All the Potterbilites
by Andromeda of Othrys
Summary: The title is shamelessly lifted from Takara Phoenix's old work in PJO fandom, but who cares when it fits. In short, this is a compilation of works for Houses Competition, Year 2: sometimes connected, but mostly unconnected pieces that explore the enormous HP world. Overall rating is T, but it will slide. Chapter 19: Andy Black is not a nice sister - she's a devious one.
1. There's always a third way

**This is my first story for the Houses Competition, Year 2. I'm back in HP world!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Crossroads**

 **Word count (without AN and FFN styling):494 words**

 **Also, this chapter is dedicated to the most amazing beta in the world, maripaz6! (Yes, Harry is Mari. Go and smirk at us.) And this is fem!Harry story.**

* * *

Privet Drive, Surrey.

Nothing special about that place; boring, suburban area, where the sheer monotony was enough to drive most people insane.

Not for Maristella Potter, though. There was no such thing as monotony for her. Walking up to the end of the Privet Drive where it met Magnolia Crescent, she sat at the crossroads. Okay, she didn't really sit at the crossroads, on the road itself – she wasn't crazy! Freak, maybe, but crazy, nope. She sat on the sidewalk, emerald green eyes dancing with barely contained enthusiasm. She got to people-watch again!

She didn't get to do that for the last week, being stuck with that horrible hag she called Aunt Marge in the house, but she fully intended to make up for it today and tomorrow.

„Awfully alone, are you, little one?"

Mari blinked, and looked up at the speaker. The lady who spoke was... beautiful, for the lack of better word. Not beautiful like those models wearing skimpy and strange clothes in Aunt Petunia's fashion magazines, but beautiful still in her dark brown skirt and bottle-green blouse dotted with small yellow stars.

"Not really," Mari finally answered, done taking in the strange lady. "But I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

The lady chuckled and sat down next to her, neatly folding her long skirt. „Smart one, too. But it's okay if you don't want to talk. I'm not here to talk _to_ someone, either."

Mari cocked her head, hearing the stress on the word to.

"You talk to yourself?"

The lady smiled and shook her head, and for the first time Mari spotted the small circlet on the lady's head – two silver half-moons and disc between them, with thin silver strip going around her head.

"I ponder. I've found that the crossroads are always the best place to think." She waved at the crossroads. "Tell me, little one, how many paths can you choose between at the crossroads?"

Mari frowned, sensing the trap in the simple question. "Um, two?"

"Nope", the lady popped the 'P'. "How many paths do you see now?" She pointed at the crossroads they sat at again.

"Um, three?" Mari guessed, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

"Exactly. Remember sweetie - very few decisions are irreversible. You can always go back and choose another path. You just have to be brave enough" The woman stood up. "Remember that, Maristella Lillian Potter."

Mari startled at the usage of her full name, but before she recovered, the lady was gone.

"I'll remember. I promise," Mari said to the empty space.

* * *

 _Little did the eight-year-old know, she would use that advice years later. She knew she shouldn't have, but the entire room was filled with time-turners… . Besides, magic could accomplish almost anything, if you were brave enough to try. So why not try and change the future?_

 _In the end, she felt that erasing herself and seducing Tom Riddle was a small price to pay for a world without Voldemort._


	2. All about pink

**The themed for round 1!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Prompt: Pink (color)**

 **Word count: 2031**

* * *

Traditionally, the color pink was associated with both romantic, sweet love, and close friendship. It was also a 'proper' color for little girls and everything cute and feminine.

Ginevra 'Ginny' Weasley _hated_ color pink.

As the youngest child and the only girl in the family, the earliest memories she had was of chasing after her elder brothers and roughhousing around before being pulled inside and scolded by her mother for dirtying her dress. Most girls in her situation would've been spoiled little princesses, but not Ginny.

She didn't want to be just a pretty face with no opinion, like all those pureblood heiresses whose only goal was to marry a pureblood heir and have kids. No, she wanted to play Quidditch with boys, to be independent, to choose exactly who and what she would be when she grew up. In her mind, pink represented everything she didn't want to be: obedient, submissive, pushed in the background.

That was the main reason why she disliked Luna Lovegood in the beginning.

Luna was her only girl neighbor, and her mother often arranged playdates for Luna and Ginny with Pandora Lovegood so that the girls would foster a close friendship. Every time she came over, Luna would wear the same dainty little dress, with ribbons and bows and Merlin-forsaken _frills_ on the hems, looking like a proper, blonde princess. The worst thing about the dress, though, was its color - pink. Sometimes salmon, sometimes angry, sometimes deep, but always, always pink.

Ginny was more than ready to hate the dress and ignore the blonde.

Luna, however, did not take the cold shoulder kindly, and confronted Ginny at redhead's eighth birthday party.

"Why do you run away when I come, Ginny?" Luna asked, head cocked and arms crossed. Her dress that day was the color of amaranth flower - not quite red, pink or purple, but a smooth mixture of all three.

"I don't like you," Ginny said bluntly, hoping the blond girl would take the hint and leave her alone.

No such luck.

"That's not true," Luna blinked, her pale blue eyes losing focus for a split second before clearing. "I saw you looking at me when you think I'm not watching. Why do you run away?"

Ginny gritted her teeth. Why couldn't the blonde annoyance take the excuse and go back to her mommy for the pampering? Lovegoods, while not precisely rich, were far better off than Weasleys, and Luna was the only child. Ginny had met a girl in the Muggle village who was the only child and so spoiled it made Ginny want to barf - Luna was probably no different.

"I. Don't. Like. You," the Weasley girl snarled, deftly sneaking past Luna and set off for the doors of the Burrow. In her haste to avoid the other girl, though, she forgot to watch out for the mud pools from the yesterday's rain. Before she knew it, the ground went flying up, and she closed her eyes with a shriek, extending her hands to catch herself before her head collides with the ground.

That never happened.

Instead, she felt pair of hands under her shoulder blades, keeping her heads and shoulders from touching the mud, and saw stray golden locks at the edges of her vision.

"You should be more careful," Luna scolded as she steadied Ginny and helped her stand up. "The Wrackspurts must've gotten you really good."

"Wrackspurts?" Ginny blinked, completely taken aback as she tried to clean off as much mud as possible. She had never heard of any creature with that name, and she knew a _lot,_ thanks to Charlie and his dragon obsession.

"Oh, they like to muddy up people's thoughts," Luna explained airily. "Make them grow unfocused."

Ginny tilted her head. _Wow, she must be really loony to believe this_ , she thought. _Loony Luna - it rhymes!_

"Okay," Ginny finally said and turned to leave, but something caught her eye. Luna's normally spotless pink dress was covered in mud, and the blonde girl didn't seem bothered at all, whistling as she inspected the brown stains.

"Guess Mum will have to wash it again," Luna winked at Ginny. "At least she'll have fun deciding which shade of pink to dye it with."

* * *

That little scene remained in Ginny's memory for a long, long time. Luna's mother died the next year, Luna no longer came over for playdates, and Ginny, strangely enough, found herself missing her not-friend. After Ron left for Hogwarts, Ginny found herself with ridiculous amount of free time and absolutely nothing to do. Sure, she had to help out her mother, but the chores couldn't keep her occupied for the whole day.

In the absence of any real entertainment, Ginny started borrowing books from her mother's and father's stash, learning most random of things. One of them spoke about the meaning of colors, and Ginny all but swallowed the massive book in only a few hours.

There, she found what exactly the color pink meant, and she wanted to smack herself for not noticing it earlier. Sure, it stood for the girlishness and was universally considered the color of sweet and delicate girls, but it also represented the true friendship. By wearing that dress, Luna was trying to signal Ginny she wanted to be friends with her.

Ginny felt so stupid.

So, after she haphazardly boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time in her life, she made it her mission to find the odd girl and sit by her. She owed her that much, even if Tom disagreed.

What she didn't count on, were the moronic second-year Slytherins. How did she know they were second-years? Well, one of them was that blonde ponce Malfoy she met only weeks before, in Flourish and Blotts.

"Ooh, isn't that Potter's blood-traitor girlfriend?" Malfoy called out, and his companions cackled like hyenas.

"Checking out the competition, pureblood ponce?" Ginny shot right back, channeling her inner Fred and George as she fought the blush at being called Harry's girlfriend. Malfoy sputtered, and Ginny could hear the howling laughter before the black-haired boy opened the doors of the compartment she was standing in front of fully.

"Nice one!" the boy cheered before turning to Malfoy. "Why don't you bugger off, Malfoy?"

Malfoy sneered. "Whatever, Thomas." With those words, he left, and the boy smiled.

"I was serious - that was an amazing comeback. Dean Thomas, by the way."

"Ginny Weasley," Ginny introduced herself, taking the offered hand.

"Oh, you're Ron's sister?" Dean asked with a wide grin. "Should've known - hair and all."

"Yeah," Ginny groaned, twirling the lock of her ginger hair. "Um, did you see a first-year girl, blonde hair and blue eyes, a bit strange?"

Dean furrowed her brow and shook his head.

"Oy, do you mean the Lovegood girl?" came an obnoxious-sounding question from inside the compartment. Seconds later, the red-headed boy with Irish complex appeared next to Dean. "Seamus Finnegan, Dean's best mate."

"Ginny, and yes, I mean Luna Lovegood," Ginny confirmed. Seamus pointedly looked at the next compartment.

"She's in there. Really weird girl, that one."

"She's all right," Ginny defended Luna, crossing her arms and stalking off to the next compartment. True to Seamus' words, Luna was sitting there, already in her uniform, reading the magazine upside down and playing with the necklace made of - Ginny rubbed her eyes, not quite sure she wasn't seeing things - Butterbeer caps.

Ignoring the weirdness of the sight, Ginny opened the door and stepped into the compartment.

"Hi, Luna," Ginny greeted the dotty girl, and Luna finally lifted her eyes from the magazine.

"Hello Ginny," she said, her voice carrying a dreamy quality Ginny couldn't recall from the last time they met. "Your Wrackspurt infestation is growing."

That, however, Ginny could recall. "Okay. Not much I can do about, can I?"

Luna shrugged and returned to her magazine - the _Quibbler_. "I don't know. I usually remove myself from sources of infestations. It helps."

"Okay," Ginny nodded and sat down, pulling out her diary. Tom definitely needed to hear about this. Hopefully he wouldn't be angry that she tried to make a new friend outside him, he could be such an attention hog...

* * *

For most people, the first year in Hogwarts is a blissful memory they love to revisit.

Ginny, on the other hand, wished she could completely forget it existed.

She was so ashamed she had trusted Tom as much as she did. Why didn't she realize before he wasn't all natural? How didn't she see his fascination with Harry? Oh, she had said she didn't remember things, but the truth was, she only couldn't recall summoning the basilisk and letting him loose. Everything else, though, burned itself into her mind.

Her late-night complaints about professors and classmates, where he told her the stories of how his classmates and professors also disliked him ( _Lies, all lies, how couldn't they like him? Powerful, charming, Head Boy… they must've liked him_ ). Her quiet musings and confessions about Harry, how she feared he would never see her as anything other than fangirl, as his best mate's little sister…

But what hurt the most, was that Valentine card incident.

Ginny really wanted to make a physical card, so that maybe, one day, Harry would realize it was her. Tom had talked her out of it. What, he reasoned, Harry figured it out too early, and simply reject her? Anonymous card would be much better. He even helped her write down the poem, and told her what to say to the dwarf Cupids so that they would deliver it in a singing form.

It was also the incident that alienated her from Luna.

The blonde girl had guessed - correctly, of course, she's a bloody Ravenclaw - who had sent Harry that singing Valentine, and wasn't exactly impressed. The two ended up shouting at each other, Ginny's fiery temper finding an equal match in Luna's breezy and sarcastic rebuttals, and Ginny storming off.

Now, free from the influence of the diary, Ginny feared she would never have Luna's friendship again. Taking out the pink ribbon she and Luna exchanged only a day before the Valentine Day catastrophe, Ginny sat at the banks of the Black Lake. She couldn't face any of the students feeling like this. They didn't know anything about her part in the Chamber of Secrets fiasco, the secret was safe with the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, her parents, Ron and Harry, but she couldn't get rid of the filth she felt clung onto her.

 _Possessed girl. Parsel-mouth. The opener of Chamber of Secrets._

Ginny stuffed her head into her arms and wept, muffling the sounds as best as she could.

"Ginny?"

Ginny twitched, not willing to believe her ears.

"Ginny, are you alright?"

It really was her. Ginny lifted up her head, and Luna was standing about three feet away, watching her, her normally misty blue eyes sharp as blades.

"No," Ginny whispered and returned her gaze to the Black Lake, shame choking off any further words from her. Any apology she had cooked up in her head before sounded so insincere, so shallow.

Suddenly, someone sat by her, and Ginny felt an arm drag her into the embrace. Letting out a pathetic whimper, Ginny burrowed herself in Luna's side, clutching the pink ribbon in her fist.

"Forgive me, Luna, please forgive me," Ginny sobbed.

"Nothing to forgive, Ginny," Luna whispered, stroking the ginger mess that was Ginny's hair. "You're my friend."

Ginny twisted a little in Luna's hug to look her straight into the eye.

"Still?"

"Always," Luna smiled, and showed her left wrist. The pink ribbon Ginny had given her was still tied there. "Friends don't leave each other."

And Ginny finally smiled, after three long days. She wordlessly showed Luna the ribbon she was holding, and Luna's smile turned from comforting to blinding. If she could have, Ginny would've captured the moment in the bottle and carry it around all the time as a reminder.

It would've been a reminder that in some distant, or maybe not so distant, future, things would go back to normal. She only needed a right friend to guide her there.

And Luna was certainly the right one.


	3. Black girls

**Round 2 has begun!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Siblings**

 **Word Count: 355**

* * *

Andy wanted to scream. Or bash her head against the wall repeatedly. Instead, she just smiled in apology, and went after Bella, cursing her older sister to Hell and back.

Why couldn't she be like Narcissa? Sure, the little brat was annoying, with all the 'prim and proper' behavior she insisted everyone around her exude, but in this situation, it was far, far more preferable than Bella's stubbornness. How, again, was Bella the oldest?

"Where is he? Where is he?" Bella was standing at the tip of her toes, fruitlessly trying to spot the man she so wanted to see, and shrieking for all the ballroom to hear.

"He won't be coming tonight, Bella," Andy growled under her breath as she forcefully dragged Bella away. "Uncle Orion just told me."

"B-but Father promised!" Bella wailed, and Andy looked desperately around herself to find the closest exit from the Malfoy Mansion.

"Need some help, Miss Black?"

Andy turned and narrowed her eyes.

"Not at all, Heir Malfoy," she said cautiously, tugging at Bella's sleeve. Lucius was only a few months younger than her, and her father Cygnus had not been subtle in his desire to marry her into the Malfoy line.

Personally, Andy didn't want to do anything with the blonde peacock - let Narcissa have him, he suited her expensive and sophisticated tastes. Spotting the open terrace, Andy dragged Bella to it.

"Andy, let me go!" Bella struggled, but Andy had experience with wrangling her, so they managed to go through the open glass doors and sat in the chairs.

"Bella, the Dark Lord won't come tonight, because he has some duty to attend to," Andy whispered. "He'll come the next party. He wouldn't miss Yule."

Bella scowled but said nothing else, snatching the glass of champagne Andy had accepted out of politeness and downing it.

Andy just rolled her eyes and prepared herself for a long night of babysitting her older sister. Thank Merlin Cissy -

"Narcissa!" The screech of their mother, Drusilla, was heard in the ballroom, and Andromeda pinched the bridge of her nose. Spoke too soon.

Was she the only sane Black sister?


	4. An angel

**Round 3 is here (and closing!)**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Antipodean Opaleye**

 **Word Count: 300**

 **House: Slytherin**

* * *

 _There's a story passed down in our family, that talks about the pretty angel that fell from the sky, cast out of the heaven for his love for humanity._

Dhakkan sighed, curling his long serpentine body in the valley he fell down on. However, he couldn't find it in himself to hold grudge against his fellow angels. He could not devote his soul to the God anymore - he had no right to be in the heaven anymore. Did they truly have to transform him into serpent dragon, though? Was the judges' intention bringing pain to him? Everyone knew how afraid humans were of dragons!

 _However, the judges wanted him to suffer, so they transformed into a creature humans feared and hated the most - a serpent dragon. They wanted the angel to see how foolish his love was._

 _The angel, however, refused to be deterred by this. He loved humanity, and he had been an angel once, so he made a daring promise to the all-seeing Father - he and those of his kin will never kill a human, and animals only in hunger._

Dhakkan smiled, feeling the scales around his colorful eyes crinkle. His younger grandchild was just taking flight, chattering in excitement and climbing up to the clouds to bring rain down. He had never regretted defying heaven and staying here, on Earth. He was going to die soon, of course, but he had no regrets.

Why would he? Humans learned not all dragons wanted to harm them. Although he could've done without their fascination with his scales.

Scales maketh not the dragon, for Father's sake!

 _And he - and his kin - kept it. And so, Antipodean Opaleye dragon - also known as Rainbow Serpent to Muggles - lives in peace with humans, bringing water to them in the times of worst drought._


	5. Of sleeping

**Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Sleeping**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Word count: 600**

* * *

The night was, for most, the time of rest. There was nothing like falling asleep, knowing you're safe and nothing will happen to you.

Sirius had not slept for over thirteen years.

It was nearly impossible to truly sleep in Azkaban, and why would he want to anyway? James' and Lily's voices haunted him enough while he was awake and, subject to the chilling aura of his guards - he did not want to hear them while he was asleep, too. Padfoot was his true savior: when he transformed, all his memories blurred and dreams became bland and colorless. It used to creep him out, but at that time it was his salvation, and probably the only reason he managed to break out when he spotted Peter in the _Prophet_.

Breaking out, however, did not mean he could sleep again. Now that the voices of his best friends did not haunt his every waking hour, they decided to compensate by invading his dreams and creating untrue dreams out of his darkest memories.

"NO!" he shot up in his bed shivering, heart and breath caught in a vice-like grip.

Objectively, he knew the real events had not played out like his dream, but tell that to his mind. Dimly, he recalled Lily explaining to him how Muggles figured out that you can't really manipulate your own dreams - if it's there, it's there - and he hated the fact. He never wished so much that magic could solve that.

"Siri?" Remus murmured from the bed across from his, his greying hair gaining a peculiar silver tint in the weak light of the waning moon as he raised his head. "Siri, you alright?"

"I… I'm fine, Moony," Sirius lied, and the words rang hollow even in his own ears. "A nightmare. Nothing special, really."

Remus now propped himself up fully, and Sirius had to suppress a wince at the expression gracing his friend's face.

"Siri..." Remus trailed off, trying to find words and finding none. "Padfoot. I thought we left lying to each other after our second year."

Sirius frowned at the reminder of that disaster of a year. Sure, their sixth year was a clusterfuck in on itself, but second year was where everything collapsed for the first time. Morbidly, finding out his friend was werewolf and setting his nemesis Snape on said friend just before his transformation were lower on his list of screw-ups than that year.

"I'm not lying to you," Sirius insisted. "It was just a nightmare, I promise."

Remus only exhaled, and even in the dim light Sirius could spot disapproval on his friend's face.

"If you say so, Siri." A heavy pause. "You know, the deal from that year is still valid."

A breath caught in Sirius' throat. It was still valid? Was Remus joking?

"I- we're not twelve-year-olds anymore, Moony," Sirius weakly deflected, and Remus shook his head.

"So what? We're still friends. I recall the deal saying 'as long as we're friends'."

Sirius wanted to sob, but controlled himself in the last second. Remus was right; they were still friends. But he was also right; he was no longer the twelve year old boy who came from summer and winter breaks with bruises and burns and scarred heart from his mother's abuse and father's indifference.

It was about damn time he moved on.

But was it so wrong to take some comfort?

Flinging all the pride and rationale to the wind, Sirius climbed out of his bed, practically sprinted across the room and burrowed himself in Remus' sheets, closing his eyes.

He always did sleep better when he had someone to share his bed with.


	6. Destiny by any other name

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Garrick Ollivander**

 **Theme: Deception(omission)**

 **Word Count: 2021**

* * *

Being a wandmaker was no easy job. The training, the secrecy, the strain, and most importantly, _knowledge._ You had to live with the fact that it was _you_ , you and no one else, who unleashed both the monsters and heroes on this world. Of course, you couldn't make their choices, but you always knew what they had potential for. That knowledge was a heavy burden to bear, but such was his responsibility.

Garrick Ollivander had had years and years to get used to that feeling. He had sold so many wands, seen so many children grow up and die, and he could only sigh remembering their fates. So few of them had managed to escape the fate their wand woods and cores set them up for. Even fewer had approached the full potential that he had gleaned upon the day they were matched to their wands.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Lord Voldemort, was the first that sprung to his mind, closely followed by Harry James Potter.

Ah yes, the unholy duo of his most challenging customers. So picky, so complex, so _defined_ , even at the age of eleven. Yew and holly wands, with phoenix feather from the same phoenix - the woods polar opposites, yet spiralling around the same core - same destiny, same choices.

Yew for mourning, timelessness, unchangeability, power in the face of terrible odds, _fear of death_. Yes, Lord Voldemort had certainly fit the description to a 'T', even as a lanky, pale eleven-year-old with glacial eyes. Phoenix feather only added to the power of the yew, bringing with it a promise of rebirth, of eternity. Rebirth had come in literal sense, as he was reborn almost a year ago, if Potter and Albus were to be believed, and eternity he secured with the name written in blood of countless innocents he spilled in every history book of magical Britain.

 _Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord._

In contrast, holly was the symbol of rebirth, hope, life in the middle of death, sacrifice, _the acceptance of death._ Just like his nemesis, Harry Potter had fit the description perfectly, and his expressive emerald green eyes gave it all away. Putting phoenix feather as the core of the wand was actually an experiment of Garrick's, to see how the feather would affect the wood once it bonded, and he'd never intended to sell it. The fate had spoken, though, and the power of rebirth in its every form was now in the young boy's hands and, if Albus' ramblings were anything to go by, doing its job by keeping its owner alive.

 _Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived indeed._

It was almost frightening how similar - how compatible - the two were. Both made orphans by chance, both possessing a strong will to survive and _thrive_ in the new world they were thrown in, both wielding wands that predicted close ties to both death and life. In another life, they could've been friends, maybe even lovers. Garrick's father had always said phoenix wand carriers had fire in their veins.

However, with fire always come burns. What Garrick had never told anyone - and why he outright lied to Voldemort, when he got too close to the truth - was the reason behind the matching of the wood to Fawkes' feathers. It hadn't been his choice to make the wands, after all...

 _The young Tom Riddle, no longer eleven yet not an adult, stepped into the old, shabby shop, eyeing the wand boxes with poorly concealed distaste. Garrick stepped out of his workshop and smiled at the old customer._

" _Hello young Tom. What brings you to my shop?" He flicked his gaze to the beautifully carved white wand peeking out of the boy's pocket. "I hope your wand is still serving you well?"_

" _But of course." Tom quirked his lips up a bit, pulling the wand out and twirling it in his hand. "It's been wonderful. I've wanted to thank you, actually. It's… so_ _ **unique**_ _."_

 _Garrick froze for a moment. What did the boy mean by that?_

" _You flatter me, Tom," the wandmaker tried to wave away the compliment. "It's my job to create the wand that suits you the best."_

" _But matching yew with phoenix feather?" Tom raised a delicate eyebrow. "I've been reading some books about wand-making. It's quite a tricky match to harmonize."_

 _Garrick smiled, fighting down the bile and fear, and avoided the eye contact. With the sheer power of the wand, Legilimency was not outside boy's abilities._

" _I do enjoy challenges, and I'm glad that the wand found its match so soon."_

 _Tom cocked his head, obviously not believing him, but let it go, soon leaving the shop. Garrick had never been so glad to see a customer leave the cramped space. He had come so close…_

Garrick shook his head, and walked into his workshop. As per usual, the room was in the complete chaos, with branches scattered over every available flat surface that wasn't floor and various tools laying around for the unprepared to trip over. The cores' corner was the only place with some semblance of order. But he wasn't going for the cores, or the wands. He was going for the bolted door on the other side of the room.

It was there where he made his wands, and he needed to know something. He _needed_ to know. Had he made a mistake?

The bolt disappeared with a flick of Garrick's wrist, and the door swung noiselessly open, letting out the silver light. Garrick stepped in, closed the door, and turned to the small dais, where the enormous silver ball sat encased in the mesh of golden wires.

"Andromeda?" He called softly, and the silver ball pulsed for a moment before stilling.

 _Garrick! It's been a while since you visited._

The childish, female voice filled the room, and the old wandmaster felt the shivers tingle up his spine.

"I'm very sorry, my dear," Garrick apologized. "I've been selling the mainstock ones, and no interesting matches occured."

 _Aw! That's okay, it's rare to sell more than two or three really interesting ones in a lifetime. Your father only sold two, too._

"Newt Scamander and Albus Dumbledore, I know," Garrick sighed. "At least he got relatively positive people."

 _Don't be so sure, Garrick_ , Andromeda warned. _Albus was not exactly a paragon of virtue in his youth._

"Who is? Don't be so harsh, Andromeda, he was a boy."

 _Somehow, I don't think most boy would plan on enslaving all the Muggles and reigning supreme over them with his wizard lover._

Garrick was glad he wasn't holding anything at the moment, for he would've dropped it instantly. "What?!"

 _Whoops!_ Andromeda giggled. _I really need to start watching my mouth!_

"Explain, Andromeda!" Garrick demanded, but Andromeda just ignored him.

 _You know, I'm so glad you aren't like your father. Gods above, it took me_ _ **ages**_ _to get him to listen to me and stop making subpar matches. You, on the other hand, listened immediately!_

"And look where it got me. I made the wand that killed hundreds directly and thousands indirectly!" Garrick shouted. "How do you expect me to live with it? How, Andromeda?"

Andromeda was silent for a long, uncomfortable minute.

 _You know the rules,_ she finally said. _I cannot tell you of the future I weave._

"Yet you urged me to make the yew and phoenix wand, telling me it's 'for the better'," the wandmaker cited acidly. "How is this for the better?!"

 _You_ _ **dare**_ _question me, Garrick Ollivander_ , Andromeda said flatly, quietly. _Me, the Weaver of Fate, Disciple of Lachesis. You have_ _ **some**_ _nerve to come in here and_ _ **demand**_ _the answers you know I cannot give to a mortal. The nerve of you._

"I just want to know -!"

 _You and your wishes do not matter, Ollivander,_ Andromeda's voice was crystal sharp, and cold as the deepest circle of Hell. _You're merely an instrument of Fate, just like me. Do you think yourself - and your skills - irreplaceable? Believe me, there are other wandmakers who are more than capable of taking on your current duties._

"No," Garrick whispered. He was _not_ going to drag his niece into this madness before he had to. "I do not, Lady Andromeda."

 _Good,_ Andromeda whispered. _Good._

* * *

After the Second Wizarding war was over, Garrick returned to his shop. The workshop was trashed, of course, but the door in the back was still locked, and the bolt showed no signs of tampering. Releasing a relieved breath, Garrick opened the door and went in, kneeling in front of the dais.

"Andromeda," he breathed. "I am so glad you are hale and healthy."

 _Thank you, Garrick,_ the girl chuckled, and the silver orb pulsated madly for a few moments. _It was a close call, though. Next time, disillusion the door sooner!_

"Yes, yes I will!" the old wandmaker promised with all of his heart. "... you knew this whole time the war was going to happen, didn't you?"

 _I did_ , Andromeda sighed. _Unfortunately, the Fates had decreed their will, and I had to fulfill it. Tom Riddle could've had another wand - the less powerful one, less volatile one. But then… then so many things wouldn't have happened. The world would've started to decay. War is not nice, but it tore away all the pretenses and showed the ugly infection of blood separation in the society._

Garrick nodded. "I know, but I cannot agree with the methods."

 _Oh, Garrick,_ Andromeda scolded playfully. _When you live as long as I do, you realize that force is sometimes the only way to shake people of their stupor. Humans are lazy by nature. They like routines, staleness… it's my job to shift them forward, no matter how much they don't like it._

Garrick shook his head and refused to comment. "Any new wand ideas you'd like to mention?"

 _Hmm…._ Andromeda sounded deep in thought. _Phoenix feather and rowan wood?_

Garrick's eyebrows shot up, but nodded. _Rebirth, and protection. A bit tricky, but nothing unmanageable._

"Anyone specific in mind?"

He could hear Andromeda's smirk.

 _Oh, no one important,_ she spoke coyly. _Just a boy with the name of a traitor turned hero._

* * *

Nineteen years later, Albus Severus Potter came into his shop, his father a step behind him and with arm on the boy's shoulder. Garrick shuddered a bit, but calmed down and stepped out.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, reasonably supple," the wandmaker greeted. Repairing that particular wand had been a difficult task, but one he'd happily undertaken. "And young Mr. Potter. Here for the wand?"

"Yes. This is Albus Severus," Harry Potter nodded, giving Albus a light push. "It's OK, Al."

 _A boy with the name of the traitor turned hero._ Garrick cursed internally as he let the tape measure the boy's aptitude with magic. He would not rob the boy of the anxiety the purchase of his first wand carried, but he already knew which wand was going to answer him. Dear Fates, he was just like his father in that regard! At least he won't have his father's ridiculous ability to wander into the life-threatening situations and come out of them smelling of roses. The rowan was far too calm for that…

Phoenix feather. Garrick felt the need to bash his head against the wall. Rowan may be calm, but there was no stopping the fire of the phoenix! His father may have been the sudden hurricane, but his son would be infinitely more dangerous - he would be like the huge river chipping away the faulty dam, and no one would see it coming!

Not for the first time, Garrick wanted to tell the parent, or anyone really, of the child's powers. Warn them. But he knew that he couldn't. Not only was he sworn to secrecy, he would probably die before he could say anything, and then he'd have to deal with Andromeda's wrath. _No one_ wanted to deal with her when she was angry - she was just too much!

He swore he could hear Andromeda's giggle in his ear, and he cursed internally again. Damn the Fates and their nosy disciples!


	7. Sushi troubles

**Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Sushi+"I think you meant to say: hey, I know how I want to get us all kiled today?"**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Word count: 630**

 **Additional notes: This is a complete AU, placed in WWII-era, with Hadrian Evans sorta acting like Harry, but not really.**

* * *

"I think you meant to say: hey, I know how I want to get us all killed today? Honestly, Aiko-chan."

That, coming from the most reckless people in the room, meant quite a bit, and Aiko pouted at the gorgeous, emerald-eyed Brit she was hosting for the exchange between Mahoutokoro and Hogwarts. Hadrian Evans simply stared back, head up and back straight as he sat on the lower bunk of the bed he shared with his best friend Tom.

"But - but you can't go home without at least _trying_ sushi in Tokyo!" Aiko whined, not caring about how pathetic it sounded. She was very proud of the vast number of good sushi places in the vicinity of her home, and she would be damned if she didn't drag her friends and their foreign guests to at least one of them.

"We're _gaijin_ , Aiko-sama," Tom Riddle drawled, barely lifting his eyes off the Transfiguration book he was reading. "We'll be lynched if we go out there - or do you think that they'll just ignore the fact we speak English and not Japanese?"

"That's what disguises are for, _Tommu_ -san!" Aiko countered, pulling out her ivory white wand out of the wrist holder and twirling it between her fingers. She was the top of her class when it came to disguises, both magical and Muggle in nature. The fact that she was the undisputed fashion queen of Mahoutokoro helped a lot, too. "Give me five minutes, and no one would suspect you two of anything, let alone being a _gaijin_!"

"Even if we stop _looking_ European, it doesn't mean we will suddenly be able to speak Japanese," Hadrian yawned, collapsing on his bed and pulling over the bowl filled with pocky sticks, picking out the pumpkin flavored one. "We'll get found out anyway, Aiko-chan."

"No, you won't! Just trust me, _Hadurianu-kun._ " Aiko winked at the Slytherin duo. "Give me an hour, and we'll be able to go anywhere in Tokyo! Well, excluding red light district..."

"Like we'd want to go there," Tom interjected, putting down his book, "when we have the entirety of Hogwarts and half of Mahoutokoro to pick from." He smiled slyly at Aiko, and the Japanese girl had to force herself to stop blushing.

If Hadrian's barely concealed snickers were anything to go by as he munched on his pocky, she failed spectacularly.

* * *

"I can't believe you managed to talk us into this," Tom grumbled in an unnecessarily low voice: the parlor the trio had chosen as theirs was discreetly warded against eavesdropping, so Tom and Hadrian did not have to stumble over their hastily learned and clunky Japanese sentences. Aiko just smirked and leaned back, observing the foreigners.

The two boys were dressed in a standard business suits they transfigured from their Hogwarts robes, and constantly fidgeted in them, not used to wearing them for an extended periods of time. Aiko, on the other hand, was completely relaxed in her pastel blue long-sleeved frilly monstrosity of a dress, sipping her cup of sencha tea as they waited for their sushi to come.

"Like you didn't expect that to happen," Hadrian murmured, tucking away a lock of his hair to cover the smile from Tom. "Have you met Aiko?"

Tom looked around and discreetly rolled his eyes, conceding to Hadrian's words. The two boys had a strange relationship: Tom usually didn't allow criticism from anyone, but Hadrian somehow managed to do exactly that on regular basis without Tom exploding. Aiko had a nagging suspicion they were a bit _more_ that just close friends, but she wasn't going to pry. Besides, why risk their ire when she could always ask one of the Hogwarts transfers?

Let it never be said that Aiko did not have self-preservation instinct, despite the evidence pointing otherwise.

Now, where was that sushi?


	8. On ice

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: going ice-skating**

 **Word Count: 168 words**

* * *

Why, oh why did Draco agree to this?

Oh yes, those puppy chocolate-brown eyes of his newly-declared fiancee.

"C'mon, Dragon!" Hermione coaxed, gliding on her bladed shoes - skates - like a fairy up to him. "Relax and let me lead!"

"Absolutely not!" Draco refused her hand, holding onto railing as if it were his lifeline. "This is the only safe place in this entire… arena."

"Rink," Hermione corrected him, shaking her head, and crossed her arms. "Rink, which you and I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, will explore thoroughly. Together."

Draco's eyes widened, but before he could react to the ominous tone in his fiancee's voice, he found his arm firmly under Hermione's and gliding on the slippery ice.

"And if you try to fall on purpose," the bushy-haired devil hissed in his ear, "I'll let Harry and Ron see you fall in the Pensieve."

Draco gulped and nodded. He knew better than to piss off Hermione Jean Granger, soon to be Granger-Malfoy - or should he say, his nose knew better.


	9. Saturday cookie night

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Cookies**

 **Word count: 2006**

* * *

There weren't many rules in Potter household - or at least, not a lot of formal rules. The standard ones of 'no shouting unless it's Mum or Dad or when both are absent', 'no running in socks on tiles', 'no getting caught eating sweets before dinner' etc. Between the Weasley's house of organized chaos, and the fact that Harry had grown up with too many rules, they had both decided to keep things simple in their home.

There was one, however, that everyone adhered to - the 'cookie Saturday night' rule.

"Harry! We need one more bar of chocolate!" Ginny shouted from the kitchen, checking the cupboards and the list she was holding in her hand.

"Got it!" Harry rushed down the stairs, six-year-old Lily Luna hanging for dear life to his back. Seven-year-old Albus Severus and nine-year-old James Sirius flew down seconds behind their father, child-sized aprons already tied and hands squeaky clean. "Please occupy these rascals while I'm at it!"

"No problem! Al! James! Lily!" Ginny shouted, and the three children rushed into the kitchen, clamoring for their mother's attention as Harry slipped out. "Hands?"

All three hellions lifted their hands for inspection, and their mother made a show of carefully inspecting every single hand down to fingernails. At last, she gave an approving nod to them, and Lily giggled while the boys smirked.

"Good. Lily, you're on the list duty -" Lily whooped and ran to hug her mother, while her brothers groaned, "- Al, you're mixing, James, you're retrieving and prepping."

James just rolled his eyes but got to it without complaint. "Powders, mix, liquids, mix," he parroted the way the ingredients were mixed for Ginny's sake.

Ginny nodded, arms crossed. "I'll be doing the scooping and baking - no complaints!" she raised her voice to be heard over Lily's and Al's loud whining. "If you want those cookies, you'll start working _now_!"

"Yes, mum!"

* * *

Harry rolled his eyes as he entered the house, arms filled with the supplies, and found himself confronting the familiar scene. White powder - flour or sugar, Harry wasn't quite sure which, since he wasn't close enough - decorated the floor and parts of the kitchen countertop. The kids had no white spots on them, so it had to be sugar. The butter was melting in the small pan, watched over by his wife, whose face had the same reddish undertone as her hair, and the three rascals appeared to be fighting over the -

"What in the name of Merlin's pants is going on here?"

Lily, the ultimate daddy's girl, abandoned the fight over the paper cups for cookies and flew to her father, apron and hands miraculously clean of any suspicious substances. Ginny only sighed and shot her husband her signature please help me with the monsters look

"Dad, Al and James don' wanna gimme cups!" the auburn-haired girl wailed, her speech slurred and muffled as she burrowed her head into her father's coat.

"Liar," Albus sneered, dancing away from James' long arms as the older boy unsuccessfully tried to steal the cups away. "You're just being selfish, Lils."

"If anyone's selfish, it's you, Al," James growled, eyes fixed on the small packet in Albus' hands. "You hogged all the mixing, and now you want to put the cups in, too?"

"Lils was bratty the whole time, and you ate half the chocolate we're supposed to use in the batter," the second Potter son retorted hotly. "I'm the only one who did his job and caused no damage to _anyone or anything._ "

"Al, James, enough!" Harry ordered, lifting Lily up and striding into the kitchen, supplies left forgotten at the entrance doors. "Lily, Lily, please don't cry," he soothed his youngest until her eyes weren't shiny from the unspilled tears in them. He put her down and turned to his sons, arms crossed. "I'm disappointed. You were supposed to do this _together_ , not squabble like a herd of cats and dogs. Get out of the kitchen."

Al and James' eyes widened in shock, while Lily shot her brothers a smug grin. Harry noticed it, of course, and turned his gaze on Lily, too.

"You too, missy. Fighting with your brothers and being nasty on purpose is not how a sister should behave. Your mother and I will finish the cookies, while you go in the living room and think about what you've done."

Done with dispensing the justice, Harry returned for the supplies and carried them to the kitchen table, where he started sorting them out manually. Sure, he could use magic for it, but Saturday was the day Ginny and Harry agreed on when talking about introducing kids to the Muggle world. Wizards had been forced to quickly adapt to the new methods of the surveillance Muggles used, since you couldn't exactly erase the damning evidence from the CCTV tapes.

Harry had been more than glad to show first his wife, then his kids, how a typical Muggle lived, and with a few educational trips to 'Uncle Dudley' (Harry still couldn't believe he and his cousin were talking to each other normally) to brand those lessons permanently in their minds.

"Thank you," Ginny murmured with a quiet sigh, pouring the melted butter into the mixing bowl and energetically mixing it in the brownish dough. "I wanted to do it myself, but..." she gestured vaguely with the hand not holding the ladle, "you know."

Harry nodded and offered a comforting smile and a hug from behind. "I know."

And boy, did he know. Lily, Al and James usually got on relatively well, but the Potters learned never to take things for granted - the amount of time needed for a simple squabble to transform into a full-blown fight was counted in milliseconds.

"I just wish I could read them as well as you can," Ginny whispered, pulling out her wand and tapping the mixing bowl, making it float over to the paper cuts and fill it just over halfway up. "How do you know when they'll explode?"

Harry sighed, burying his face into Ginny's wild red mane. "Uncle Vernon never had obvious tells," he told her somberly. "I had to learn those little tells if I wanted to avoid hospitals. It just comes naturally nowadays."

Ginny sighed as well and turned, hugging her husband. They rarely talked about Harry's life before Hogwarts, and she never pushed, for which Harry was grateful. He knew she also glossed over parts of her life before Hogwarts: that lonely year when Ron left for Hogwarts and she was the only child in the house, the year when Bill graduated and left her… The pair also avoided the topic of the war almost entirely. Some wounds were better left alone.

They were messed up pretty good, but they had one another, their friends, and now their children to lean on and take strength from.

* * *

Harry leaned on the doorpost of the living room, quietly observing the trio sprawled on the couch and the armchairs, who were determined not to look at one another, and rolled his eyes skyward before striding in and plopping down next to Al on the couch. He didn't even blink as the three sets of eyes turned on him.

"So, calmed down yet?" he asked casually, ignoring the tension in the room. "Because I don't know about you three, but I kinda want to eat those cookies, and you know how your Mom is when it comes to eating."

James scoffed and leaned back into his armchair, Lily perked up and fixed a hopeful gaze on her father, and Albus only stared blankly at the glass table. Harry sighed inwardly and mentally prepared himself: time to bring out the big guns.

"So you don't want them?" He prompted the three, knowing at least one of them would cave.

"I want them!" Lily instantly protested, forever the little sugar-addict.

"Then apologize to Al and James," Harry shrugged as if he didn't care. "Then you'll be able to go and eat." He dragged every single shred of Slytherin cunning the Sorting Hat had seen in him to create a flawless, emotionless poker face. He may have been a Gryffindor, but fatherhood taught him to appreciate the subtle mental manipulation he needed to make his kids do things they hated.

Albus raised his eyebrows, the first reaction since he was sent out of the kitchen. Lily blanched, and James scowled at his father.

"No way I'm apologizing to the pipsqueak," James drawled, reminding Harry uncomfortably of Draco Malfoy. It couldn't be often seen, but Harry worried James inherited too much of his and Ginny's stubbornness and pride. Coupled with frankly ridiculous expectations some people had of Chosen One's children, it created a defense mechanism Harry feared would be seen as elitist.

"I'm sorry Al, James," Lily squeaked out and tried to rush out of the room before her father's stern gaze stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Boys?"

"I'm sorry, Lily," Albus finally spoke, eyes slightly unfocused, but Harry detected the sincerity in his voice, so he let it slide. "And sorry to you too, I guess, James."

James did not answer for the longest moment, dark brown eyes locked onto the marble-like quality of Harry's expression, before exhaling noisily and waving it all away.

"Yeah, me too, Al, Lil." He yawned and stretched casually in his seat. "So, cookies?"

Harry smiled softly and stood up.

* * *

"... and then, I went up to Malfoy and asked, completely casually, 'Why haven't you said anything before, Malfoy? I could've arranged you a far worse date, you know.' His face was priceless." Harry wrapped up his story amidst peals of laughter, grinning like a madman. Everyone sitting at the table was laughing, and Lily's laughter bordered hysterical as she swayed dangerously on her chair.

"I can't believe you managed to keep your face when you said that," Ginny gasped through laughter, clutching her sides, ignoring the half-eaten cookie sitting in front of her. "What did Zabini say?"

"He just smirked and turned to Hermione to discuss some of the laws she was drafting for the inclusion of Veela," Harry recalled. "Merlin, it's a good thing Ron hadn't been there - he was stuck on lookout duty. Can you imagine what he would've said?"

James sniggered, twirling his own cookie between his fingertips. "Probably something Aunt Hermione would hex him for later."

"No, he wouldn't," Albus snickered. "He'd say something so inappropriate, Aunt Hermione would've hexed him for _immediately_ , Ministry officials and foreign dignitaries be damned."

"Language, Albus Severus!" Ginny reproached, sending Harry a scolding look. "Would you stop cursing around our children?"

Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Danger of the duty, Gin. You can't survive one day in the job without cursing out at least a few people." He gave her an innocent look.

"Aurors," Ginny spat out the word, but the acidic level of the words was mellowed out by the small smile still clinging to her lips. "If you manage to lure one of the children in the same line of business Harry, I swear you will never have to worry about watching your tongue around anyone."

Harry shuddered at the threat, even though he knew Ginny hadn't really meant it and stuffed the cookie into his mouth to prevent himself from speaking and digging his grave even further. Being on the other end of Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex was just _nasty_.

"Why wouldn't he have to watch his tongue, Mom?" Lily asked innocently, and Albus and James sniggered as the two adults exchanged panicked looks. You couldn't exactly say to your six-year-old daughter her Mom indirectly threatened her Dad to cut off his tongue, could you?

"Why-why don't you take another cookie, Lily-flower?" Harry finally suggested, valiantly ignoring his sons' knowing looks. "This one looks really tasty."

"Okay!" Lily pounced on the cookie Harry offered, gobbling it down in record time before fixing Ginny with a pleading look. "Can we bake more?"

Harry's and Ginny's eyes widened together with James' and Albus' as they recalled Lily on sugar high.

"NO!"


	10. Dancing champion

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Dancing**

 **Count: 236 words**

 **A/N: If I need to explicitly tell you this is an AU, then you're a freaking idiot sandwich ;)**

* * *

Harry could not pretend he did not want this. Oh, how he wanted this. Now that he had it though, he was still waiting to wake up from a good dream. Or for the other shoe to drop. After all, he was Harry James Potter, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Boy-Who-Lived, and most recently, the fourth Triwizard Champion.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, he thought his dancing partner would want or appreciate - and yet here he was, floating around the dance floor, Draco Lucius Malfoy leading him through more complex Waltz steps on the Yule Ball.

"Relax, Potter," the blonde Slytherin hummed into Harry's ear, expertly swaying the Gryffindor out of Hermione's and Viktor Krum's - and hadn't that been a surprise! - way. "You're as stiff as a broomstick."

" _You_ relax with three hundred eyes watching for your every mistake, Malfoy," Harry retorted, but did his best to lower his shoulders and stop craning his neck. "I've never danced before in my life."

"Like I could forget," Draco snickered, pulling the other boy in a careful four-step spin. "My feet still have bruises."

"Not my fault you didn't believe me." Harry rolled his eyes as Draco used the abrupt crescendo in the music to quickly dip him. "And can you stop milking this?"

"Of course not, Potter. There hadn't been enough blackmail photos taken."

Forget about this being a good dream; he was in a nightmare that had no ending in sight! Although, he got to dance with a guy, even if he was a grade-A asshole, so it wasn't all that bad.

It would be definitely something worth remembering.


	11. The grey of apathy

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Grey**

 **Count: 819 words**

 **A/N: Words in italics are German.**

* * *

 _The color grey: it can mean either sophistication, or apathy/lack of passion._

 _Also, marble in nature is usually various shades of grey - only the finest is pure white._

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald scowled as he caught himself reaching for that damned picture again. Whoever thought being a Dark Lord was only death, destruction and conquest had obviously never been a Dark Lord, not even a piss-poor one.

"Stop it!" he growled as his fingers twitched again.

" _Herr Grindelwald?_ "

" _Ja, Johann?_ " Gellert snapped in his native language, effortlessly switching from English to German. The brunette wizard, Johann, winced at the sharp tone.

" _The envoy from Frau Baranovskaya is here,_ " he informed the Dark Lord with a shallow bow, eyes never making direct contact with burning violet ones of his superior.

Gellert raised his eyebrow, his hand sneaking into his pocket to feel the shape of the Elder Wand he stole so long ago from Gregorovich. The elegantly carved wood fit snugly into the curves of his palm, as if to reassure him they were still loyal to him and only him. Smoothing his charcoal grey robes, only a few shades away from pure black, he nodded imperiously to Johann.

" _Let them in, and show them to the side parlor._ " The main parlor was far more opulent and would be more suited for the reception of Lilia's envoy, but Gellert knew the woman cared little for the displays of wealth. No, to woo Lilia Baranovskaya, you needed to impress her with your own skills, and Gellert was not about to fail this test.

" _Understood._ "

Gellert could sense Johann's disapproval of the choice, but the other wizard wisely said nothing as he left the room. He knew he had no place questioning Gellert, particularly not in regards of their potential allies. There was only one man he had ever allowed to criticize him, and he was miles away, teaching in school. A waste of potential, really, but it was Albus' choice, and Gellert had to admit the man still had the eye for young, talented men. The headache that went by the name of Newton Scamander was more than perfect example.

After a few minutes, the German wizard exited the room himself, casually strolling through the mansion's wide hallways to the side parlor, mentally preparing himself for a surprise. That was, after all, one of Lilia's favorite tactics.

* * *

The first thing Gellert spotted about the envoy way the abundance of grey color he wore: the silvery-grey hue of his waist-long hair, dove-grey Muggle three-piece suit that fit him to a T, and grey-rimmed glasses he wore over his stunning pale blue eyes. In fact, those eyes were the only thing that popped out; the only thing on him that seemed alive.

" _Guten Abend, Herr Grindelwald,_ " the boy - or man, Gellert had hard time telling the envoy's exact age - drawled, an unmistakable Russian accent blending neatly with the harsh German pronunciation while his face revealed nothing but grey marble of apathy. " _Ich bin Viktor Nikiforov, Frau Baranovskaya Bote._ "

" _Guten Abend, Viktor,_ " Gellert replied, a bit stunned at the familiar way envoy, Viktor, toyed with German words. Bote, the messenger, not Gesandter, the legate or envoy. Had the woman already reached her decision? " _How is Frau Baranovskaya?_ "

" _Oh, she's well,_ " Viktor said dismissively, reclining in the armchair he claimed. " _And she sends her sincerest greetings and well wishes, Herr Grindelwald_."

" _Please, send her mine as well,_ " Gellert replied, easing himself into the usual dance of the diplomacy he once so detested and preferred to leave to Albus. " _I must say, Viktor, I had not expected Lilia to send you, of all people._ "

" _Why?_ " The Russian asked, picking up one of the vodka-filled glasses lying on the glass table between the two men. " _Is it my age?_ "

" _No, no,_ " Gellert chuckled, mirroring his guest's movements. " _The age hardly matters in our world, does it?_ "

" _When you put it like that, no, it doesn't,_ " Viktor agreed with a nod. " _Then what surprised you?_ "

" _I thought of your upcoming wedding,_ " Gellert leaned back into his own chair. " _It is very soon, is it not?_ "

" _Yes,_ " Viktor flashed Gellert a wide, blinding smile, a first honest emotion he showed. " _But my Yuuri understands. Besides, this shouldn't take too long, right?_ "

The tone of the question was innocent, but Gellert took as the underlying threat even the stupidest could understand.

" _Of course not. Has Frau Baranovskaya reached her decision?_ "

Viktor nodded, his face completely void of emotion. " _She has._ " With those words, he stood up with unnatural grace and went for the doors.

Gellert watched him go, the unsaid answer Lilia had sent via the beautiful boy - one of her most trusted allies and her former student - more than clear.

Grey color, and the smooth, expressionless face paired with elegance - apathy.

Once a dancer, Gellert huffed, pulling out the envelope with charcoal painting of Albus out of his pocket, always a dancer. But don't worry Lilia, I will leave you alone… as long as you don't make problems for me.

His fist clenched, seemingly out of its own accord.


	12. White misunderstandings

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: White**

 **Word count: 2010**

 **A/N: I don't care what J.K. says, I say Lavender lives!**

* * *

Lavender couldn't believe it. The day had finally come!

...or, it will come. But in the light of the end of the war, she had no problem waiting a month, or a year, or however it takes for the perfect wedding to be set up. She thought she would die when she saw that monster looming above her - thank Merlin Granger and Professor Trelawney had been near to stop him. The important thing, though, was the lesson she learned - hold onto things you cherish, because you don't know when you'll lose them.

That's why she'd rekindled things with Seamus the moment the dust settled around them. That's why she'd forgiven Ron (and got a hilarious, stammered-out apology for his behavior that had Granger's fingers all over it. She and Parvati laughed about it for _ages_.). That was also why she'd employed Parvati to help her organize her wedding and pick out the perfect wedding dress.

The first part of it had been a piece of cake: Parvati was a monster when it came to organizing parties of any sort. It came with the enormous network of distant and close relatives, or so Parvati claimed whenever Lavender asked her.

The second part… hit a snag.

"But 'Vati, it's perfect!" Lavender whined, all but rubbing her cheek against the high-quality, lace-covered bodice of the snow-white wedding gown. It was styled to resemble Cinderella's blue dress, only white, and the bodice and puffy sleeves were entirely made out of lace and beads.

"No, it's not!" Parvati crossed her arms, dark eyes blazing, and for a second Lavender was afraid she would hex her wandlessly, even though it was a feat only former Headmaster Dumbledore and You-Know-Who were known to do on rare occasion. "You will not wear a pure white dress on your wedding, and that's final!"

"Why not?" Lavender frowned, crossing arms herself and settling into a defensive pose across her best friend in the bridal shop. "It's traditional here, 'Vati. If I wear anything but white, it'll be a scandal!"

"I'm not saying you will not have a white wedding, stupid," Parvati huffed and tucked a flyaway lock of her ink-black hair behind her ear. "I'm just saying I am not allowing you to get married wearing a pure white dress."

"And what if I wanted to?" Lavender posed the challenge, feeling a bit silly but not willing to give up on it. This was her wedding, not Parvati's! If she wants to wear a pure white dress, she will!

"Then you'll have to find a new bridesmaid and wedding organizer," Parvati hissed in a low tone and abruptly turned on the heel, exiting the shop.

Lavender only gaped after her.

"Having trouble, Miss?" the clerk asked her sympathetically, coming from behind the register to join Lavender at the centre of the small room.

"Yeah," Lavender said in a daze, still trying to process what just happened. Parvati simply walked out on her, and for what? A dress? They had not had a fight about fashion since… since they met, really! They had completely different styles, but they loved to experiment, and loved same colors and cuts. How could she walk out on Lavender over a stupid dress?!

"Ah," the clerk sighed. "May I know why the other Miss stormed out of the shop?"

Lavender turned around to face the clerk, and noticed for the first time woman's delicate, dark features, oh so similar to Parvati's. _She is Indian_ , Lavender thought in shock. _Or at least, she originates from there. Maybe she'll help me figure this out!_

"Um… my friend's parents are from India, and they raised her to observe some traditions," Lavender made up on the spot, not really lying. Parvati's parents, while not very strict, still demanded their daughters to observe some of the traditions of their home country. "And she doesn't want me to marry in a pure white dress. Why?"

The clerk blinked, confused for a second, before chuckling and nodding in understanding. "I see! It's not your fault, Miss. I doubt you would ever mention the significance of colors in India in casual conversation."

Lavender tilted her head, now very interested. She needed to get to the bottom of this mystery. "They are different?"

"When it comes to weddings, only a bit," the clerk shrugged. "Traditionally, wedding dresses in India are either gold or red, as symbols of wealth and fertility of the bride. White is acceptable color though, as long as it is not pure white. It has to have at least a splash of other colors, best red or gold. Pure white, well..." the clerk shuddered there. "Most believe it will bring uncertainty and widowhood unto the bride, and some even believe it's a sign of the bride's premature death."

A bolt of freezing cold lanced up Lavender's spine at the revelation, and she shuddered as well. It was no wonder Parvati did not want her to marry in pure white! Dear Merlin, it was almost like choosing a pure black wedding dress here!

"Okay, now I get why she freaked out so badly," Lavender murmured. "Um… can you help me find a dress with red lace on it?"

"Of course!" the clerk smiled widely and led the younger girl into the back room, which was filled with the wedding gowns of all colors and styles, from yellow to black. "Any preferences for the model?"

"Strapless, with a train if possible," Lavender said automatically. It had been her girlhood fantasy to marry in one such dress after she had seen that movie… what was it called? She couldn't really remember its name, but she had fallen in love with it.

"Oh, I know a perfect one! Speaking of dresses, though… what about the bridesmaid's dress?"

Lavender smiled secretively. "Oh I know which one… I'll only have to ask you: do you have this one's," she pointed to the fabulous blue, sari-inspired dress, "size 3?"

The answering grin on clerk's face said it all, and Lavender could only smirk at the face she knew her friend would have at the end of the day.

* * *

"You… you bought the dress?" Parvati googled at her best friend, as if trying to check Lavender was not playing some sort of prank on her.

"Yup," Lavender nodded, nonchalantly pointing her thumb behind her, where her wedding dress floated in a black zipper bag to avoid creasing. "And I got you a bridesmaid dress, too!"

"I told you, Lav -"

"You will not see me married in pure white, I heard you, the first time," Lavender rolled her eyes with a fond smile. "And you won't. I chose a dress with a color detail."

"Promise, Lav?" Parvati frowned, but Lavender could see the shining hope in her eyes. Damn, her best friend really wanted to make that wedding perfect and then attend it.

"Pinky promise, 'Vati," Lavender swore solemnly, extending her pinky finger. "I will not show up in a pure white dress on my wedding."

"Then I guess you still have your bridesmaid," Parvati grinned from ear to ear. "Now, let's see those dresses on us, yes?"

"Oh yes."

And with those words, the two girls and two zipper bags disappeared with a loud crack.

* * *

"Wow. Just… wow, Lav," Parvati shook her head as her friend slowly twirled around, showing off her white dress and the lacy roses sewn onto the bodice in a spiral pattern all the way down to the hem. It was jaw-dropping and eye-catching - in other words, pure Lavender. Parvati sometimes wondered how they managed to form a friendship that managed to overcome disputes over boyfriends, differences in opinion about Harry Potter and a full-blown war.

"Thank you," Lavender smiled as she slid her palms down the side of the dress, admiring her reflection in the mirror. "There was another gorgeous one, but I didn't want it: it was more your style than mine, to be honest."

"Oh really?" Parvati asked, unable to stop herself from inquiring. "What kind of dress?"

"It had the Indian-style red bodice and sleeves, and the skirt was white shot with red," Lavender described with a dreamy smile. "I know it would've looked gorgeous on you."

Parvati wanted to laugh at the silly face Lavender was making. Honestly, sometimes she had a hard time understanding her best friend!

"Speaking of which," Lavender now turned to face Parvati, "you still haven't looked at your bridesmaid dress." She gave her a pointed look.

Parvati sighed, ready to rehash the argument that started the moment she took over the organization of the wedding. "Lav, I told you, I do not need a new dress! I already have that one from the Yule Ball, and my mother has an entire _room_ filled with dresses for every occasion on Gaia's green Earth."

"But almost every one of them had already been worn once!" Lavender complained, feeling for the hidden zipper at her back. "I told you, you should have a new dress for my wedding - you certainly deserve it after making all the preparations!"

"Lavender..." Parvati sighed, closing her eyes in exasperation. Why was the brunette being so pushy about it? What was wrong with the other dresses?

"No. At least look at the dress, and then tell me you're going to wear some antique, needs-to-be-shrunk-to-fit-me dress to my wedding."

Rolling her eyes at Lavender's dramatising, Parvati stood up from her chair and went over to the other zipper bag. She did not even try to peek when Lavender showed her the bag, because she knew Lavender had a good eye for styles. If she said the dress was fabulous, it probably was, and Parvati could not resist the fabulous.

Tugging the zipper line, Parvati held her breath, and grabbed the hanger to pull out -

"Oh," was the only thing she could say in the face of the beauty she was looking at. Distantly, she could hear Lavender's smug remarks in line of 'I told you so', but she couldn't devote the proper amount of attention to it. How could she, when the gorgeous dress demanded her unshared attention?

It was dyed cobalt blue, flowing down from the one strap/one sleeved sari-inspired top, all the way to the floor in a harmonic blend of Western-style A-line dress and a traditional Indian sari. Parvati didn't even realize she was crying until Lavender handed her a handkerchief with a soft smile.

The Indian girl sniffed and accepted the rectangular cloth, touched by her friend's gesture. Why in the world had she thought Lavender would not buy her anything less than a perfect dress, the one she would proudly show off to her family? Had she really forgotten how thoughtful the other girl could be, when she decided to care about someone?

How could she, after the first time they met?

 _Flashback:_

 _"Hey, I love your dress!" Parvati startled and turned in her seat to face the door of the compartment. Younger Lavender stood at the door, eyes wide open as she swept her gaze up and down Parvati's sari her mom insisted her wear at the first train voyage 'for good luck'._

 _"Um, it's sari, not a dress," Parvati corrected the strange girl. "It's my family's traditional clothing."_

 _"Ooh, like plaid skirts for Scots? But your sah-ri is sooo much prettier!" Without any invitation, the girl came in and sat across Parvati, making up for Padma's disappearance with one of the nerdy boys they met at the station._

 _"You're… not making fun of me, right?" Parvati asked suspiciously. She had heard people laugh over her choice of clothing, but she would not the cowed - she would wear sari with pride._

 _"Nope! It's so not my style, but wow girl, it looks good on you!" The other girl smiled widely. "I'm Lavender Brown, by the way."_

 _"Parvati Patil."_

She really, really shouldn't have doubted Lavender.

Although…

"This is beautiful, Lav," Parvati said quietly, but with a wicked grin that promised only mischief, "but don't you think that this dress is better than your wedding dress?"

"No, it's not! No way, 'Vati!"


	13. The fierce witch Galatea

**Round 6 is here! And I just got the most wonderful idea ever :D**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Galatea Merrythought**

 **Word count: 418**

* * *

Galatea was no ordinary witch in many ways. She refused to marry despite her numerous suitors, she despised any sort of household work, and she _loved_ duelling.

This last thing was what landed her a post in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, a feat she loved to brag about to anyone who would listen. To be honest, she had every right to do so: she managed to get a job in the subject most wizards and witches thought to be unsuitable for a woman, and her first employer was the prejudiced pureblood bastard himself, Phineas Nigellus Black. The odds were against her from the very beginning, and yet she managed to preserve and teach so many wonderful students; some of which she later welcomed as her dear colleagues, like Albus and Horace.

However, even the brilliant, charming and smart Albus Dumbledore could not measure up to the potential of the young Tom Riddle. Muggleborn, or maybe even half-blood (with him being orphan, Galatea was not about to assume anything), the boy _breathed_ magic, casting some of the most complex spells with almost insulting ease. Galatea knew, she just _knew_ he'd be dealing in the same area as her - maybe even teach in Hogwarts some day!

However, there was one thing he couldn't seem to nail, no matter his gifts and efforts.

The Patronus spell.

It was one of her favorites, too - she managed to cast it in her sixth year, the youngest person on the record - and she desperately wanted to teach her future successor that skill.

Alas, she was retiring, and Tom seemed to be no closer to casting the Patronus than before. It pained her, it truly did, but in the end, it was one spell she rarely used - there was more than one way to skin the cat, as the Muggle saying went, and same could be said about defeating Dementors.

Maybe Tom needed a break from trying to cast it. Some wizards simply didn't have the memory that was sufficient for the spell to work.

"Enough, Tom," she chided him from her seat. "You'll pass your NEWTS even without Patronus."

"But, Professor - " Ah, here it came: the infamous Riddle Stare, the one he only had when the boy thought he was near some important breakthrough.

"No. You will be able to get the post of DADA teacher: do not fret so much!"

Tom sighed, but lowered his wand in deference. "Are you sure, Professor?"

"I'm absolutely certain," Galatea smiled. "Who wouldn't want you?"


	14. Blue nightmares

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Blue**

 **Word count: 532**

 **A/N: Harry is the girl here (Holly)**

* * *

"No," Holly shook her head as Hermione pointed out yet another dress for the upcoming Yule Ball. The two girls had went through what felt like half the Diagon Alley, and they still haven't found that right one for either Hermione or Holly. "Too much blue."

"You don't like blue?" Hermione asked with a cocked eyebrow, shifting most of the weight to her right foot. Holly shuddered and nodded.

"But you never seem to dislike Ravenclaws," Hermione pointed out.

"I hate wearing it, or being near anything huge with the same color," Holly explained tartly. She was _not_ about to explain why she hated that damned color so much to Hermione. That was _private,_ not to mention completely irrational. "I don't hate people wearing it."

Hermione looked at her with a suspicious glint in her eyes, but eventually accepted Holly's reasoning and went deeper into the store to look for other dresses, leaving Holly alone to catch a breath.

She knew her fear and dislike of blue was absolutely irrational: _she_ had never had any bad experiences with anything blue. Even at her most sadistic, Aunt Petunia had never tried to drown her.

Yet… Holly still detested blue. It reminded her of the half-fogged dreams she would wake up from gasping in terror, her wrists and ankles aching from the invisible manacles and her back raw from the rocks she rubbed against trying to escape her bonds. At a few occasions, she even bled after those dreams, the smell of iron reminding her of battles she had never seen in her life yet knew every single agonizing detail of.

 _The sea was her kingdom's most precious ally: it was the only way they could send out their riches in exchange for crops and fresh water. However, it could also be their worst enemy at times: sea storms were known to sink the supply ships, and the pirates and dead sailors were not an unusual sight at their shores. Death was something even she, the crown princess and sole heiress, was far too used to._

 _Being used to it, however, did not mean being indifferent to it, particularly when it was staring you right in the face. Tugging fruitlessly at the cold iron binding her wrists, the princess bit her lip and cursed her mother's pride and quick mouth for the innumerable time in the last few hours. Why, oh why did she have to insult the immortals by comparing her daughter to them? In the end, she would not be paying the full price of her folly - it was her daughter who would be eaten by the enormous sea monster!_

 _Speaking of which… the sea started boiling over in the distance, alerting the princess that the monster was coming closer. It seemed like the sea was to be her grave, after all..._

Holly shuddered as she recalled her most common nightmare. For most people, blue meant serenity, peace, order. Holly wished she would belong to that majority, and not be special like this. The again, after having that sort of dream her entire life, was it really that strange for Holly to hate color blue and just about anything associated with it?


	15. Things never forgotten

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Sands of time**

 **Word count: 2032**

* * *

 _Some things should be remembered as a reminder for the countless generations, and some things are better gone, lost in the sands of time_

Albus sighed, watching Fawkes preening his feathers on the silver perch inside his teaching office. After a few minutes, his eyes wandered back to the small glass ball, the object Newt had given to him on the rooftop of St. Paul's Cathedral in London tempting beyond anything he had felt before. If he broke it, or even just cracked it a tiny bit…

 _No!_

Albus shook his head, and conjured the thick, dark cloth to cover the orb with and dull the golden light it emitted. He did not need this temptation, but he had agreed to host it, at least for the time being. He had already proven once he was not to be trusted with vast amount of power - and this? This was the ultimate power a man can hold. He was the worst person to be entrusted with this.

Newt did not think so, but then again, his student was far too optimistic, far too naïve, and far too trusting. He believed his old teacher and savior would be able to keep the orb out of Gellert's greedy hands – he didn't even think Albus would try and use the orb himself.

"I would've taken the orb with me, but I'm afraid one of my friends would break it," Newt had joked as he handed over the glass orb. "Pickett in particular likes shiny things, and I don't want him to get stuck inside that orb!"

The Transfiguration teacher stroked his beard, turning back to the papers he had managed to get from one of his old school acquaintances working in the Department of Mysteries. The writing was so curvy and loopy, so that most people would not be able to understand any of it – a precaution for ordinary thieves and anyone who accidentally stumbled on the classified documents. Albus had employed the similar style of writing, however, so he could immediately get to the essence and start decoding the essay.

 _The power of time_ , was written in Albus' handwriting on one of the papers, _is vast and difficult to capture by normal means. In fact, I doubt any amount of magic would allow us to affect time on a grander scale. Despite our powers, we are still mortals, and as such cannot perceive or control the flow of time. However, we can influence it on a smaller scale, in terms or minutes or hours: maybe a day if we really stretch it – if we are talking about changing the past events._

 _The influence we can have on the future events is currently unknown, and I highly discourage any sort of experiments with it due to the unstable reality of the future possibilities._

And it was this power that Gellert sought so much, he had murdered innocent children; this power that tempted Albus so much. How many times had he wished he could change the past? How many times he wished he could know what the future had in store, so he could alter its course? Really, he would've be better off if he never learned that it could be done. The temptation to use this power for the Greater Good would eat him alive, Albus was certain of that. Oh how he wished he had remained ignorant, to spare his heart this pain.

 _I will never use the orb_ , Albus swore to himself. _I will not touch the sands of time. Never. Even if I could save the world to do so._

The resolution was all well and good, but Albus had not counted on the unforeseen circumstances interfering.

The orb had been examined by several employees of the Department of Mysteries, and they all agreed that at present, they could not host the orb. The defensive mechanisms of the Time Chamber were insufficient to protect the valuable object. It could not stay at Hogwarts, either: even with the wards Albus put over the cabinet in his personal rooms, there was still a risk of students gaining possession of it and wreaking havoc in the timestream with it. If Albus had learned anything in his years as a Professor, it was that a determined student could get into areas that even a skilled Curse Breaker wouldn't dare attempt, given a proper motivation.

"Destroy it," Lydia Marchbanks, Madam Marchbanks' daughter, told him after the last inspection. "It's too much of a risk to leave lying around, and we can't protect it from Grindelwald."

"Are you certain, my dear?" Albus did not want this to happen. What was the point of Newt risking his neck and Albus' resolution to never touch it, then? The orb would simply be destroyed, never to be even studied? Both the scholar and philosopher in Albus screamed at the unfairness of it. They could learn so much from the Orb, and there could come a time when having access to the Sands of Time could save countless lives!

But he did promise he would never touch them - not even if the end of the world was coming.

"Absolutely," Lydia confirmed with a firm nod and a side glance at her boss. "Boss is not completely on board with it, but he agrees with me. If we can't safely guard it, we have to destroy it. The risks of it falling into the wrong hands are just too great, you must see that. Besides, we have all the notes for later experiments we need."

"Very well," Albus sighed, raising his mahogany wand and summoning the orb to his palm. "I'm ready whenever."

The gaggle of wizards and witches instantly scattered, forming a loose circle around him with him at the center. Albus took a deep breath and levitated the orb with non-verbal _Wingardium Leviosa._ He let it hover for a few seconds hesitating imperceptibly as something in him rebelled at the thought of destroying something so unique. Gathering his resolve, he cancelled the spell and let the orb shatter on the ground, the sands spilling from the shards before starting to evaporate.

Suddenly, a gust of wind flew through the half-open windows, and some of the sands lifted off. They landed on Albus before he managed to get away, and dragged him down into the darkness.

 _The pale, dark-haired boy around eleven years old with an unsettling smile on his face sat in front of older-looking Albus, at the cheap, metal-wrought cot._

" _I always knew I was different." A flash of triumph let the boy's dark eyes, before a swirl of sand obscured Albus' vision._

 _The Sands of Time dragged him along, ripping his consciousness through time and space before setting him down again. His blue eyes took in his surroundings, feeling a kind of apprehension filling him at the desolate place._

 _There, in a cold, dank, dark cell, was the hunched figure of a man, draped in tattered robes. He huddled in the corner in front of a tall, snake-like man. Something in the weathered, age-ravaged face was familiar to Albus. He knew this man, he-no...it could not be Gellert. What was this? Some vision of a dark future?_

 _The serpentine wizard, with cruel crimson eyes was speaking, demanding something._

" _Your journey here was pointless. I've never had it."_

" _LIAR!" The inhuman wizard all but screamed in fury and raised a bone-white wand, intent on striking the unarmed figure down. Albus reached out in vain, but the sands swirled up again and carried him away...even as he cried out for the man who had once been his friend._

 _This time the vision was of a place he knew well, the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. It was different, to be certain, but elements of it were too familiar to miss. There was a dark-haired, green-eyed boy shaking in the wingback chair, sitting in front of the wizened, old man, with scruffy man standing just behind him and phoenix - was it Fawkes? - on his shoulder._

" _He's back. Voldemort's back." The boy was pale and shaking, smudges of dirt and blood on his face and a raw pain in his eyes that shook Albus to the core. What horrors had this child seen? Who were these men standing there, just watching him suffer? He tried to take a step forward to comfort the child, to to be dragged away again._

 _In vain, he struggled against the swirling sand, but it carried him ever onwards. He hit the hard ground on his knees, dropped into the middle of what he could only describe as a warzone._

 _The carnage, with Hogwarts half-destroyed right behind him, the grounds littered with bodies of men, women, children and beasts. He felt tears filling his eyes at the sight of one child, no older than a third year, lying like a broken doll in the middle of the Transfiguration courtyard._

" _I speak to you now, Harry Potter." A disembodied voice seemed to wrap around him, familiar in a way he couldn't put a finger on. The acrid stench of smoke and burning flesh clung to the back of his throat, choking him. And then..._

"Albus? Albus, are you alright?" Lydia's frantic voice roused him, pulling him out of the...he wasn't quite sure what exactly that had been. A dream? No, more like some terrible vision of the future.

Albus blinked, the images still burned at the back of his eyelids, before realizing he was not standing in the middle of the battlefield anymore, but in his office, with the people surrounding him.

"I'm- I'm alright," the Transfiguration professor stuttered out, accepting Lydia's hand and standing up. "I-I blacked out, that is all." No one could ever know about the horrors he had seen, and the terrible future that awaited them. He had to avert this tragedy, there was no other option. There had to be a reason that he'd been given this glimpse of the future, and with that gift came a horrible responsibility. He alone would have to avert the disaster he had been shown.

 _Who said you couldn't change the future?_

It would be years later, as Albus hung on the Death's doorstep, awaiting Severus to put him out of his misery and save young Draco's soul, when the wise man would realise the folly of his thoughts that day. The folly that ruled his life from there on, allowing him to manipulate people like chess pieces, all in the name of preventing the future he had seen from happening. It seemed he never stopped looking for the power he shouldn't have, and using it for the reasons he swore he would never again.

But the worst part? The worst part was the trail of death and bloodshed he could see now, following in his wake; the sacrifices he had made in vain, all dismissed as the part of the greater plan in the heat of the moment. Had he ever grown up, really? Or was he still that foolish, eighteen-year-old boy desperate for power, because he believed that power would grant him freedom?

No, he had not grown up in the slightest - he had only perfected the disguise and the platitudes for his accusing, merciless heart. Not even Aberforth could see through all of his scheming in the end, and that man knew him better than anyone still alive - better than his dear friend Gellert, even.

Albus Dumbledore should never be forgotten, but not for the things he had done, but for the things he had failed to do - take Harry and Tom away, talk Gellert out of the military campaign, make his position in the Ministry firmer.

But the most important lesson to take from his life, Albus thought as he saw Severus' wand level out, pointing at him, was the lesson he had learned about power - if you crave it, do not delude yourself into thinking you can stay away from it. Otherwise, you'll simply slip into using it, and lose your soul to it.

You won't even notice it happen - you cannot notice the slide into Hell when you already crave the warmth, after all.


	16. A story I've sworn to never tell

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: It's a long story.**

 **Word count: 360**

* * *

"Myrddin," Salazar huffed as he towered over his student and leant on his potions desk, "will you deign to tell me what in the name of Hecate happened here?"

"Aye, Morgan," Godwina crossed her arms to accent her friend's point, the right one threateningly placed over her sword as she stared down the girl in front of her. "I shall also like to know the answer to Salazar's question."

Myrddin, better known as Merlin, and Morgan, sometimes known as Morgana, flinched away from the two Founders, somehow managing to keep their distance as they did so. The boy was bleeding from several shallow cuts on his arms and legs, and the girl was stuck halfway between being her normal self and a chameleon - only some parts of her were see-through.

"We were experimenting?" Myrddin squeaked out, playing with his oak and Nymph hair wand, a gift from his dear friend Nimue.

"Experimenting," Salazar hummed, looking between the two of the best students he had ever taught. He knew better than to believe that flimsy excuse. "Since when do the results of your experiments land on someone else, Myrddin?"

"It's a long story?" Morgan smiled weakly as she said that, before wilting under Godwina's scathing glare.

"Make. It. Short." The founder of the House of Brave demanded.

"Is it not obvious, Godwina?" Salazar chuckled, shaking his head. "Morgan interrupted Myrddin's chain-casting, and when Myrddin failed to fix the damage, she retaliated."

Myrddin and Morgan gaped at the Slytherin Founder. How did he know?

"Of course," Godwina groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I suppose you never forget past experiences, Salazar."

"Never," Salazar smirked and saluted the other Founder. "It had been far too much fun to forget."

"Experience, sir?" Myrddin asked, leaning closer, Morgan not far behind.

"That, my student, is a long story I have sworn never to share," Salazar turned on his heel, still smirking as he gallantly offered his arm to Godwina. "I am not foolish enough to incur Godwina's wrath."

"One thing your cunning is useful for," Godwina muttered, accepting the man's hand and exiting the room with him, leaving the two students to their speculations.


	17. Power of knowledge

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: "You have no power over me." "You sure about that?"**

 **Word count: 1038**

 **A/N:** **Harry is vindictive little shit here - in other words, he accepted his Slytherin side and ran with it.**

* * *

The situation Tom found himself in was aggravating, to put it mildly.

He had heard all the _credible_ rumors about the transfer student coming this year - apparently he was some sort of savant in Defense, had the most _dreamy_ green eyes, was shy and polite to everyone, and was a freaking _powerhouse_ , magically speaking.

For once, the rumors did not exaggerate: magic seemed to _adore_ Harry James Evans, radiating off of him and curling up to him like a possessive lover. His precise spell-casting in Defense had Merrythought sing him praises - a feat Tom knew only he and Dumbledore pulled off - and was one of the nicest and most gorgeous people in the world…

Until Tom came into the equation, that is.

For whatever reason, Harry was distant towards him at best and downright dismissive at worst. The fact he had been sorted into Slytherin in the same year Tom was in only added the insult to the injury. Hadn't he realized that Slytherins stuck together, no matter what? That Tom was effectively his master?

His Knights tried to reassure him as best as they could - he was new, what would a Mudblood like him know of the Slytherin policies, he was unimportant - but Tom could not share the feeling the boy was important to him somehow.

Maybe it was the power, maybe the quiet confidence in his own abilities... or maybe it was the mysterious jagged, Sowilo-shaped scar on his forehead.

The scar was unnatural, Tom knew that - nothing mundane could leave a marking like that and not heal, or at least fade away after prolonged time. Abraxas told him - who heard it from Druella Black, who heard it from her brother Alphard, who had talked about it with Harry himself - that Harry had had that scar since he was a babe, only slightly older than one.

The only explanation for the scar was magic; seriously Dark or Light Magic, which only dragged out a new question to the table. How had the unassuming boy with zero magical background gotten that scar?

In addition, the boy received letters every Monday like clockwork; written on pure white parchment, bound with golden ribbon, and lacking any insignia or seal on it. Harry only read the first two before he started discarding them into the fire without even opening them with a disgusted look on his face. Tom and the rest of the Slytherins in his year pressed him for answers, but only got this comment:

"I don't write to lunatics who try to overstep the boundaries."

All of this, plus his insatiable curiosity, had led Tom to his current predicament: disarmed and held pinned to the walls of the Room of Requirement at wand-point, Harry's eyes being _that_ close to shooting out twin Avada Kedavras at him.

Aggravating, like he had said before. Tom was always the one to control the situation, never the one being controlled.

"Why did you follow me, Riddle?" Harry hissed at him, the holly wand poking Tom right in the hollow between his clavicle bones.

"I just wanted to talk to you privately," Tom answered, careful to speak from the centre of his lungs - it smoothed out his vowels and deepened his voice, making him seem in control of the situation. Judging by Harry's raised eyebrow, he did not succeed.

"Talk with me." Harry's voice dripped with scorn, accompanied by the eyeroll and another scorching glare. "If you wanted to talk with me Riddle, you could've done that in the common room or in the dormitories."

"How?" Tom countered, determined to salvage this situation. Harry had been known to reveal things when properly pissed off. If he could manage to do the same… "You always avoid me."

"Not everything is about you, Riddle," Harry snorted, nose flaring in disgust. "And I most definitely don't avoid you."

"Yet you still managed to speak with every single one of my friends without me being present," Tom pointed out, being completely honest for a change. Okay, the people Harry spoke with were more followers than friends, but everything else was true. "I say you're avoiding me."

"Like hell they are your friends," the disgust of Harry's face deepened. "We're alone Riddle, call them what they really are to you."

Tom stilled, body locking in place and mind kicking into overdrive. Was the other boy implying what Tom thought he was implying? "And what should I call them, pray tell?"

"Followers," Harry bit off. "Minions. Valuable expendables. Whichever you prefer."

By Morgana. Was he truly that obvious, or was Harry simply that observant? No, it had to be the latter: no one except Dumbledore cottoned on, and the Transfiguration professor had seen Tom without any masks years ago. His cover was safe.

"What makes you think that?" Tom asked, stalling for time to figure out how to turn tables back in his own favor. How hadn't he realized this before? Harry was no follower: he was a star, ready to lead and play the mind games with Tom on equal footing.

"I _watch_ , Tom," Harry snarked, the holly wand digging deeper into Tom's skin. "Besides, knowledge is power, isn't it? I've _seen_ you, _Lord Voldemort._ "

This brought Tom's mind process to screeching halt, body temperature falling at least three degrees down. _How? How did he know about that name?_

"False knowledge only makes you a fool," Tom forced himself to say, maintaining his composure. "You have no power over me."

"You sure about that?" The wicked grin on Harry's face promised nothing good. "Then tell me this, Lord Voldemort. Do you feel humiliated, going through girl's bathroom every time you visit the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Tom gasped, iron control he held over his emotions shattering like glass.

 _How does he know?!_

"How do I know?" Harry asked with a mocking smile, and only then did Tom realized he had said it out loud. "Simple. I know you. I know your dirty little secrets." He let go of the other boy and tapped his scar. "I've seen what you will become, what you would do when given half the chance. Now leave me alone before I do something that will land one of us in Azkaban."


	18. Spies and missions

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt:** **"I'm not sure about the protocol for revealing secret identities, so… hi, I guess?"**

 **Word count: 2008**

 **A/N: Muggle AU, everyone's a spy here  
**

* * *

"Impressive, Draco," Blaise drawled with a wicked smirk as he twirled a white rose in his hand. "You make for quite a woman." The smirking agent let his eyes travel over his friend's body.

"Shut up," Draco muttered half-heartedly, tugging at the cleavage part of the corset he was wearing to give the illusion of breasts. The things he did for the agency. "I can't believe I have to do this."

"We need to get to that party, and the guy we need to talk to has a thing for blondes," Blaise shrugged and threw the blonde boy the rose. "You're the only one high up enough and unattached that can do this."

"And that means I have to dress as a bloody girl?" Draco pouted, but the words lacked the bite. "Why not Lovegood?" he whined.

"Luna is a greenie, don't be daft. We can't send her out," Blaise snapped, crossing his arms. "Now just swallow it up and get that info out of the guy."

"Okay, okay," Draco mumbled, playing with the edge of the sleeve. "Who is my partner?"

Blaise smirked and pointed at the rose in lieu of an answer. Draco's brow furrowed for a second before his jaw dropped to the ground.

"NO!"

"Wow, what a nice reception, Malfoy," a male chuckled behind Draco, and the blonde whirled around to face Harry James Potter, currently the best agent who just couldn't seem to fail and the guy Draco once fooled around with before he realized Potter was married.

"What the bloody hell did you expect, Potter?" Draco spat out, wanting to toss away Potter's signature rose so badly, but he couldn't force himself to do it. He and Potter may have parted ways in the most spectacular way possible, but he still cared for him. "I have to act all lovey-dovey with the guy with a wife and a baby on the way. Which idiot assigned us together, anyways?"

"I requested to partner with you," Harry shrugged with a soft smile. "One last mission before I retire. I figured I'd settle all the debts before I walk out."

 _Debt? Is that what I am to you?_ Draco wanted to scream, but held his tongue in check. _Is everything we went through just a burden?_

Harry's eyes glittered, always so damned perceptive. _I'll explain later._

 _Fine. But I'm holding you to it._

* * *

"That better be one hell of an explanation," Draco muttered, gliding on his high heels, arm tucked under Harry's as they approached the mansion.

"You bet it is," Harry murmured himself, smiling and nodding to the passing couples. "When we met, Ginny and I… we weren't divorced, but we agreed we needed a temporary break night before. She gave me permission to explore, and I returned the favor. The next day, I came to the office, and I see your ass leaning over my desk." Harry chuckled as the fountain of red spilled all over Draco's face at the memory of the meeting.

 _Flashback:_

 _It was Draco's third day as the certified spy - intelligence operative, yes Severus, I know, but spy sounds more epic! - and already he managed to misplace his ID. To be fair, he didn't really misplace it - he got embroiled into the inter-department prank war, and one of the biggest pranks was hiding other people's IDs on senior operatives' desks. Draco had it on good authority Colin liked to hide things on H. J. Potter's desk - the man was his idol, or something like that - and the man was conveniently late for the job. Finding his ID would be a piece of cake!_

 _...or maybe not, Draco gulped at the sight of the veritable mountain of papers scattered all over the regulations desk. Colin's predictable hiding spot now made much more sense. Not deterred in the slightest, Draco leaned over the desk to shift the most promising-looking pile-_

 _SMACK!_

 _Draco yelped, aborting his motion and whirling around to face -_

 _"Well, at least a gorgeous arse is connected to a pretty face."_

 _The raven-haired man behind Draco could not be any older than Draco: the face was unwrinkled, enchanting jade eyes sparkling and mouth stretched in a bemused smile. Draco would to the end of the world deny he had squeaked and blushed redder than Weasley's hair in that moment._

"What does that have to do with your explanation?" Draco muttered petulantly, sinking without a pause into a curtsy in front of the Duke of Wales, Harry bowing in sync. The Prince laughed and waved them off, bowing in respect.

"I knew you were gay from that moment," Harry explained bluntly, leading Draco into the ballroom and situating them in the corner opposite the French windows. "And while I couldn't be the one for you, I feel like I have to at least and find you someone you'll be happy with."

"So, you want to play matchmaker tonight?" Draco snorted, shaking his head and opening the fan he had stored in the sheer sleeves, checking perfunctionly if all of the stiletto blades were correctly placed next to the heavy wood of the fan. "You're an idiot, Potter."

"Like you would've tried to find someone on your own, Malfoy," Harry rolled his eyes, picking up the champagne flute and sipping at it slowly. "Do you even have a life outside work?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but closed it instantly, eyes fixing on the _gorgeous_ man descending the lavish staircase. The dark bangs only served to accentuate the gleaming brown eyes, and the seemingly ordinary tailored black suit was decorated with silver swirls sewn on the hems.

In other words, he looked quite a bit like Hades, and Draco couldn't help but feel drawn to him.

"Malfoy," Harry's voice broke through his reverie, "are you checking the target, _or are you checking him out?!_ "

"Wait, he's the target?" Draco gaped, eyes wide as he turned to his mission partner. "Why didn't you freaking tell me, Potter?"

"Because," Harry gritted out, clutching the champagne flute until his knuckles went white, "I thought you'd be smart enough to read the bloody briefing!"

Draco had no witty answer to that: he simply shut up and waved the fan in front of his face to hide the flush raising up his face.

"Let's just get you closer to him," Harry muttered after a few seconds, tugging Draco to the dancing floor.

Draco fought desperately for some composure as Harry whirled him around the dance floor, turning him just enough that he could keep eyes on the gorgeous figure he was supposed to be getting intel from. Figures, the most gorgeous creature in the room and he had to be the bloody target. Just great.

The song changed, and Harry spun Draco around, stepping backwards and bowing to allow him to seek out a new partner. Draco curtsied shallowly and turned around, nearly running into the target.

"Might I have the pleasure?" The man grinned devilishly, and offered Draco his hand.

Draco mentally cursed and nodded slightly, not entirely sure what to say. _Get it together, Malfoy...you're supposed to be a bloody professional._

The target offered the outstretched hand for Draco and a shoulder for a waltz hold. "My name is Theodore Nott. May I know yours, lovely?" His voice was like liquid silk.

"Daria Lovegrove," Draco answered after a second, barely managing to remember the cover name. Nott was so distracting - worse than Potter had been!

"Da-ria," Nott let the name tumble off his tongue, and Draco unconsciously shivered. Dear Lord, that voice should be illegal, and he wasn't even addressing Draco by his real name! "Lovely name. Who would leave such a pretty girl alone?"

Draco swallowed an instinctual _'I'm not a girl!'_ and plastered on a Mona Lisa smile Severus had beaten into him. "I'm not alone right now, am I?" There, back on track.

"Certainly not," Nott chuckled darkly, spinning them slowly. "But you have not told me which fool would leave you alone on the dance -"

The window near them shattered, and the sound of gunshot followed. Draco pushed Nott down on the floor by reflex, releasing his fan from the sleeve with a flick of his wrist and searching for the source of commotion.

 _Shit,_ was the only thought in blonde head when he recognized the insignia on the intruder's chest. The Black Rose, the gang he was supposed to get intel on from Nott, was here. And judging from the bullet that had nearly hit the man...they wanted him dead. This changed the scope of the mission drastically, and he scanned the room looking for cover.

"Come with me if you want to live," Draco said, meeting the handsome man's eyes.

"Sure, pretty," Nott panted, eyes darting everywhere as gun went off again, this time hitting the chandelier and eliciting shrieks and mass confusion from the guests.

Draco dragged him behind a pillar, instinctively putting himself between Theo and the threats in the room. He fished his baretta out of the holster on his leg, and spotted Potter on the far side. His partner nodded, pulling out his own gun, and Draco understood. He'd cover their escape.

"We go on three," Draco looked over his shoulder at Theo.

"Lead on, pretty." He swallowed, somewhat more serious now.

On the count of three they broke for the back door, Potter laying down cover fire, somehow managing not to kill any civilians. Draco would've been more impressed with the feat if he wasn't running for his life, dragging his former target outside. The extraction van was parked in the alley and they tumbled in together, Draco pinned under his mark.

"You saved my skin back there, Daria...or should I say Draco." Theo winked salaciously, making no move to get off of Draco as they lay in the back of the van.

"How did you?"

"Your friend promised a night to be remembered." He grinned. "This is definitely memorable."

"Um..." Draco had absolutely no idea what to say. "I'm not sure about the protocol for revealing secret identities, so… hi, I guess? And which friend promised you that?"

"I work for the Belgrade office, and Potter convinced me to transfer. In return he agreed to introduce me to the hottest spy in Britain. I say he delivered." He winked.

"Who-wait. Was this mission even real?!" Draco shouted, trying to get out from under Theo, but the man was not budging at all.

"Training exercise." He laughed and finally let Draco shove him off, but twisting them so Draco was on top this time. Suddenly there was a crackle, as a voice came over the comms.

"Seriously Malfoy, I said 'get a date', not 'go and have sex in my van'," Draco's traitorous partner drawled, and Draco was sure he would be able to bake eggs on his cheeks.

"Your own bloody fault Potter for setting me up!"

"Well, if you can't have me Malfoy, I figured Nott would be a fitting consolation prize...now that you know who he really is." Potter was laughing, the bastard. "Now get the hell away from here, and Malfoy, I don't want to see you until tomorrow evening."

"Malfoy out." He tossed his com across the van and sat up, looking rather put out.

Theo was still smiling but let Draco go. "Sorry about the deception. Let me make it up to you? Dinner? I'll even cook." He knew that while it had been a fun joke, he should at least try and make it up to the blonde. After all, anyone that could shoot and run in stilettos...could probably kick his ass without them.

"Sure." Draco paused. "Under one condition."

"Anything." Theo's eyes were wide and earnest.

"Tell me every single embarrassing thing you have on Potter."

"It would be my pleasure...I even have photographs." His expression could only be described as wicked.

Draco smirked and planted a quick kiss on Theo's lips. "Perfect."

"Just like your ass in that dress." Theo quipped, slapping the ass in question playfully.


	19. Not a nice sister

**Skipped a round cos of the exams, but I'm back now! Round 9, here I come!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: He/she/they should not have buried it in the woods.**

 **Word count: 216**

* * *

She should not have buried it in the woods. She really, really shouldn't have - the escape from here was virtually impossible - but she had no choice at this point. At least she knew it was going to be safe from _him_.

"Hey, there she is!"

 _Oh shit, they found me!_

Andromeda cursed out loud, not caring everyone would hear her, and flicked her wand behind her. The vicious Blood-Boiling Curse she learned by watching Bella's and Papa's fights went flying, and the Black girl smirked as she heard a strangled scream from behind her before breaking into a sprint. And they thought she was the nice Black sister!

Now, the only thing she needed to think about was getting out of here. The Baskerville woods had so much non-wizard energy laying around, she couldn't Apparate or Portkey out of it… except near the faerie ring, and she was definitely not insane enough to mess around with magic in that spot.

Well, whatever happened tonight, she knew that the Black grimoire was safe, and out of Dark Lord's hands for the rest of eternity. The wood nymphs of Baskerville will make sure of that.

And she? She would smile all the way to the finish line, no matter the consequences.

She had outsmarted Dark Lord, after all.


	20. Ballet and waltz

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Metal bar**

 **Word count: 829**

 **A/N: Fem!Harry story.**

* * *

Waking up early was not typical for most teenagers: however, Holly Potter had never been a typical teenager, even before coming to Hogwarts. Messy family situation and magic aside, Holly had a little secret she kept from everyone, even her best friends.

It wasn't that she was ashamed of it: she just didn't want any added attention or, Merlin forbid, requests for demonstration.

"Is this good, Miss Holly Potter?" Dobby squeaked, opening the door to the unused classroom deep in the east wing.

The classroom was dusty, but choke-full of things Holly could easily Transfigure: chairs, desks, various knick-knacks.

She could make this a ballet studio with no sweat.

"Perfect!"

After thanking Dobby and giving him a pair of socks (needless to say, she made him imitate fountains), she set out to do just that - turn the classroom into a studio. The parquet flooring, mirrors on three sides, the old radio she asked from Mr. Weasley with a small shelf with tapes, and the most important…

The metal beams - barres, running around the room.

Holly smiled, gliding with her fingers over the shiny metal. Oh the memories she had of those things…

 _Higher!_

 _Sharper!_

 _Bend back! What are you, ninety year old?_

 _Dear Lord girl, if you don't start trying, I will throw you out through closed window, and that barre with you!_

Yeah, her teacher was a bit insane, but it was okay: she only wanted Holly to become a great ballet dancer, maybe even a soloist once she grew up. Magic had messed up those plans quite a bit, but Holly was not going to give up on dancing just like that. Dancing was more that just a hobby: it was her way of life, the only thing that kept her afloat at times.

And now, with Yule Ball coming up, she needed that outlet more than ever. Formal dancing was all okay - she had had waltz beaten into her skull and carved into her muscles long ago. No, what she had problems with was the fact she had to dance with someone.

She had never danced with a male partner, and she quickly found out none of the boys she had danced with during McGonagall's practice could lead to save their lives. It was quite a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. Just how difficult was waltzing?

Therefore, she needed to work off the stress, before she bit someone's head off.

Sighing, she put on the soft ballet flats - not the pointe shoes, she hadn't danced on them for a while, and she needed a good prep - and started doing the barre exercises, watching herself in the mirrors with critical eye. Not too shabby, but it was obvious she had neglected the points of ballet she couldn't easily practice in small spaces, like fouettes.

That called for the barre in the middle.

There was a small problem, though… she had nothing to Transfigure the metal beam from, and Conjuration was still beyond her capabilities. Heck, she didn't know Vanishing, and according to Hermione, that was the easier one!

"Hello?"

Holly whirled around to the source of the voice.

"V-Viktor?"

None other than Viktor Krum stood at the door of her classroom, looking wonderingly at the studio Holly had created for herself.

"What are you doing here?"

"I..." he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I am lost."

Oh. Holly smiled and relaxed. He had found her purely by chance, and he would probably be unable to find this place again. She could lead him back… but she still had to finish her exercises. That meant letting him stay, and watch.

"I'll lead you back, but I have to finish my training first," Holly offered, and got a small, grateful grin in return. "However… can you conjure me a metal beam?"

Viktor blinked in bemusement.

"I need it for training," Holly explained a mite impatiently. "Please?"

"Ah, da. I vill."

And he did. The metal gleamed, a perfect match to the barres around the outside of the room.

"Thank you!"

Now she could finish her fouettes, show Viktor out, and do the floor moves - all those travelling steps that once baffled and scared her, but were now familiar.

"You are a very good dancer."

Holly froze mid-turn, which made her scramble for the barre so she wouldn't fall over.

"T-thank you, Viktor," she replied on instinct. "But -"

 _But why didn't you wait for me to complete my fouettes?!_ Was Holly thought, but she never got to finish it, since Viktor interrupted her.

"Would you go with me to Yule Ball?"

What?...The question was completely unexpected that it caught Holly off guard, knocking her for a bit of a loop.

"Why?"

"You are a good dancer," Viktor repeated himself in his heavily-accented voice. "And you do not care about my fame."

Not the worst reasons for asking someone to be their date.

"Sure, why not?" Maybe he'd even be able to dance a decent waltz.


	21. His special one

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Delicate hands**

 **Word count: 2019**

* * *

His hands had always fascinated me. So much in fact, had I possessed any modicum of drawing talent, my sketchbooks would've been filled with illustrations of said hands. Go ahead: laugh at the silly girl's childishness, but I knew I would've dedicated every sketch to those instruments of disaster. They filled my dreams, my every waking thought, and the fantasies that revolved around them were too embarrassing to ever give voice to.

They were elegant, pale, and long - perfectly suited for the pianist he had never tried to be, yet succeeded in imitating - and surpassing - so well. Ah, my beloved - or should I say, my god? For I could find no other word that portrayed so much, whilst saying so little - you truly loved the world too much, and I couldn't help but crave that love. I would have been content with even the tiniest sliver of affection, but it was always held just out of reach.

I am a selfish woman, no question about that - why else would I crave to be special in the eyes of the man who loved everyone? Mad, they call me: unhinged when they feel particularly sore about my devotion to Him. I could not care less, however.

They could never understand. Not a single servant of his could comprehend my love, my desire, my devotion, or my desperation.

Funnily enough, the only man that could come anywhere near understanding me was my enemy, the one I had killed mercilessly in front of his godson's eyes. Yes, my dear cousin Sirius was probably the only one who could ever understand me. Andromeda, the wretched traitor, could maybe understand me - she has a daughter, hasn't she? I remember Narcissa telling me about her when He rescued me from Azkaban - but Sirius would know my pain in excruciating detail. Had he not craved his godson's love, too? Hadn't he abandoned his quest of revenge just to regain his dear friend's son's smile?

Oh Sirius… you poor fool. At least the boy loved you with similar desperation. I had seen it, just moments ago. He had chased after me, not allowing that Lupin mutt to hold him back, going so far as to cast a crucio on me. I admit, I had laughed at him, believing him to be a pathetic, Light-sworn brat - there was no way he had meant that curse, right?

But he had. For a single moment, itty bitty baby Potter had had enough hate in him to hurt me. It couldn't hold, of course: hate was not enough to sustain the Unforgivables. It was a good start, yes, but they couldn't hold for long.

In that sense, I was jealous of Sirius. He had his obsessive, all-consuming love so typical for Black family returned with a devotion that shattered every morality, every rule Light had placed upon its champions. Had he been any older, I was sure Potter would've used even worse spells, put me through as much misery as he could without granting me reprieve of death.

That being said, why couldn't He, the one who created symphonies of death and destruction with his hands, never once glance at me the way I looked at him? Why couldn't his hands cherish me the way I cherished his vision, his ideals, his goal? Was he so oblivious to what I was offering him?

Yes, I was jealous. Mad with it, to be honest.

So I decided to act.

I was never a damsel in distress like Narcissa, who would let a strong man prop her up; nor was I Andromeda, spiteful and rebellious child who cared only for her own happiness. No, I was more than capable of sacrificing my own desires and goals, of adapting while still maintaining a strong presence.

Love was not something you waited for with a bated breath. Nor was it something you pursued without a care in the world. It was a transaction - an exchange of vows, buried in sense of duty and devotion. Everything else was superfluous, mere ornaments only here to appease egos and wounded hearts.

I had to do this. I had to propose this, but I had to do it with much care. It just wouldn't do to seem pathetic, or needy: He hated those type of beings. He demanded loyalty and obedience, yes, but crawling was something none of true servants was supposed to do. They were not his equals - far from that! - but they had a certain pride that allowed them to stand in front of Him without fear.

And I decided, for the first time, to use it for my own selfish reasons.

"Come in, Bella."

His voice went through me, making me shudder with glee and terror - just the kind of mix I needed to keep going. Had I felt anything else, I would've abandoned this route and went down another, talked about anything else related to the war we were now openly waging against the disease of the Wizarding World.

However, His voice had revealed His relaxed state of mind, openness to me. I would take a leap of faith and do this.

"Thank you, my Lord," I effusively thanked him. He had no idea just yet what exactly I was thanking for, but I would clarify it very soon. "I apologize if I am disturbing your resting time."

"Not to worry, Bella," his fingers tapped on the armchair, and my eyes were drawn right to them. Spider-like, fragile-looking, yet capable of unleashing death at the moment's notice. "Things are calm for now. I have time for a talk." The hands stilled, like a sea before the storm. "Unless you're bringing me some grievous news?"

"No, not at all!" I hurried to reassure my god. Yaxley had been bitching a bit in the parlor before I came up, and that disgusting rat and Severus had nearly gotten into a fight over something or another, but there was nothing from the Wizarding world to report on just yet. "I… this.. I wanted to talk of something not so directly connected to the war."

"Oh?"

I had Him interested. The hand on the chair's armrest was still, but the tips of the fingers were quivering slightly. I took a deep breath, and plowed on. There wasn't much I could lose at this point.

"When we win," and there was no way Potter could pull off a miracle twice. Fate would not allow it. We would win this time, "you will be the head of the Magical Britain."

"Yes," He said slowly, inviting me to continue. "What of it?"

"I presume you will not want anyone incompetent succeeding you one day."

I stopped there, a bit unsure how my words would be taken. A jab at his still present mortality? A wise counsel for the future? Somehow different?

"You look into too far a future, Bella."

Oh, good. He did not sound angry; however He did sound a bit pensieve and irritated. The fingers started tapping out a melody I did not know, and I exhaled in relief. This part was the one I had to handle with the greatest delicacy, and so far, things looked relatively ambivalent, if not positive.

"But yes. I would never suffer to see someone incompetent reside on the throne."

"Yes. And I was thinking… how to prevent that from happening," I explained hurriedly. "There are quite a few young ones who look to be somewhat competent, but none of them could measure up to you."

He nodded, the fingers starting the unknown melody again.

"And, well… I thought, who better to succeed you, than your own relative? Your child?"

The fingers froze in the motion, and I closed my eyes, awaiting the voice of my beloved to either condemn me or exalt me. I had uttered the words; there was no turning back.

"My child..."

He sounded contemplative, and I dared a quick peek at him through my eyelashes. The hand was now under the chin, and He had a faraway look in his blood-red eyes.

"You were honest with me, Bella, so I shall return the favor. I had never thought of having a family."

The words themselves were not unexpected. He always seemed to float somewhere above everyone, unbothered by the constraints of society. He was unfailingly polite and courteous, congratulating on child births, marriages and bethrotals, but ultimately remote and detached whenever those things were the theme in a conversation.

"My family has been dead for a long time, and I have never found a woman I could call my equal."

Because naturally, he had sought someone who could match him. He would not settle for anything less than excellent.

"Paradoxically, half-bloods and Mudblood women, as a rule, have far more spirit and guts compared to pureblood ones." He sighed, lips turning down, and my heart stuttered. Had he… "I do admit, it might be because the proper lady is taught not to fight. That no matter how hard she tries, she will be equal to a lord, and so they accept this with a bowed head."

My lips pursed, unwilling to admit the truth of it. Almost every female fighter she had faced and could call good was either half-blood or Mudblood. Lily Potter, Andy's brat, Granger girl… Women like Andromeda Black or Amelia Bones were rare.

"Blacks, I believe, are the sole exception amongst the purebloods… with maybe Bones' and Weasleys joining the ranks in the last generation."

Oh. Amelia and her niece were certainly not the ones to be discarded, and that Weasley girl… yes, even with Weasleys being blood traitors, their children were quite powerful, and the girl was the first daughter born in over a century.

And naturally, Blacks. I smiled at the praise.

"But now, since you've reminded me of that fact..."

His hand snuck under my chin and lifted it gently up, allowing me to look Him in the eye. His crimson gaze was as unreadable as ever, not letting any emotion show.

"I will need time to think on it, Bella," His voice was infinitely patient and soft, his other hand caressing my cheek with a delicate touch. I had a hard time staying focused on his words.

"But when I do decide… you will be the first to know."

* * *

I did not have to wait long for His reply. In fact, the little message came the next day, right before the dinner. Gulping, I opened the message, bracing myself for whatever had been written inside.

Come to my office.

The letter bore no signs of haste, but I knew Him well enough to figure out the subtle undertone of the message: tarrying will not be tolerated. He wanted to end this discussion with me as soon as he could.

Excusing myself from Narcissa's company, I all but ran to the office, only remembering the decorum after I stopped in front of the door. That was the only reason I even knocked on the door and waited to be invited.

"Come in, Bella."

The words were eerily identical to the ones He had spoken yesterday, down to the intonation. I gulped again, and slipped in, closing the door behind me.

"Yes, my Lord?"

He stood and approached me, and my eyes fell to His hands unbidden. They really were so perfect, even as they caressed the bone-white handle of His wand. Whatever He planned to do, I was ready to take with a smile on my face. He could never, ever disappoint me. Gods do not fail - that trait is meant only for the mortals.

"I have decided to take your suggestion, and bestow on you the honor you so greatly desire."

I raised my eyes to meet his, shaking with the realization of finally getting the one thing I had desired for so long. He would love me for this, this child would be the proof of it and no one would ever doubt my place in His affections again. I would be forever marked out as His special one. The only one His hands had ever touched.

"Thank you, my Lord."


	22. The secret of DoM

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Secret**

 **Word count: 388**

* * *

Hey, can you keep a secret?

Be honest with me, please.

I need to know.

Because if I tell you this secret, and you're not ready… well, death is the kindest thing that will happen. No, I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just trying to warn you. This secret is not for weak-hearted; it's not something that you'll be able to keep inside easily.

You're still with me? Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Have you heard about the phoenix-fire problem? No? Well, basically, it's the logic problem. Which came first: the phoenix, or the flame. In essence, where's the beginning of the circle?

The usual answer is this: the circle has no beginning. It makes sense, when you look at the circle - you could choose any point on the edge of the circle, and you'll return into it after you go around the edge.

However… how did that circle become? Where did it came from? Who made it?

Almost no one wishes to deal with that question, and those that do, claim that magic created those circles. An incomplete and unsatisfying answer for sure, but it does satisfy most people.

Now, here comes that secret I was telling you about…

 _Magic is only an instrument, wielded by sentient creatures._

In other words…

 _Everyone created their own circles._

Phoenix became the phoenix the moment he decided to try for resurrection. Centaurs became centaurs the moment they decided to dedicate their lives to the movement of the stars. And witches and wizards…

 _They gained magic when they wished to stand out from other humans._

Now do you understand why we can't resurrect, blow fire or observe stars to staggering accuracy? We used up our wish a long time ago, and we can't attain anything else. We can create things to our heart's content, but we cannot change our true nature - our humanity.

It certainly puts all those things done to achieve immortality into perspective, doesn't it?

Now, never breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? I'm only telling you because I don't want this secret to be lost - Department of Mysteries has been purging a lot of the records to prevent them from falling into Voldemort's hands.

Thank you so much, Marlene.

" _There's nothing to thank for, Lily. I'll carry this secret to my grave._ "


	23. Malfoy chain

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Chain**

 **Word count: 2,139**

* * *

"Hey, Draco! Come down here, dinner's about to start!"

To be honest, Draco couldn't care less about going to dinner. He was just too lazy to get up from the comfortable position he had found on the branch.

"Dra-co! You better get down here before I drag you down myself!"

"Yes, mother," Draco grumbled, tucking in the pocket watch his father had given him before the start of his first year at Hogwarts.

Standing up, he neatly jumped down from the branch, landing in front of Theodore Nott, who looked less than impressed with Draco's prevarication.

"Honestly Draco, you need to start using that watch your father gave you," Theo grumbled as he turned on his heel and marched off in the direction of the Great Hall, forcing Draco to jog to catch up with him. "I won't be always be around to force you to eat."

"It's a decorative watch, Theo," Draco explained it for what felt like hundredth time. "And I don't need you to watch over me!" he added in a huffy tone.

Theo ignored the complaint in the last sentence and focused on the first one. Ever the practical one, the Nott heir could hardly understand why Draco paid so much attention to an outdated, non-working watch. "Then why are you staring at it every chance you get?"

Draco could not tell him, though.

"Family secret," the blonde boy said after a few seconds of deliberation.

That shut Theo up, and they walked the rest of the way to the Great Hall without speaking. That suited Draco just fine; he was in no mood to talk with anyone lately. Sure, he could pretend it was a great honor to host the Dark Lord in his mansion - and it was! - but he could've done without meeting the Death Eaters.

His father, mother, professor Snape and occasional visit from Theo's father could not prepare the Malfoy heir for the reality that were the followers of the Dark Lord - the raving lunatics that hid their nature under polite veneer in public, with mixed results. His godfather had warned him several times about them, but Draco had not believed him. Now, though… his beliefs crashed face-first with the reality, and shattered like a sheet of thin ice.

That was the reason why he clung so much to the watch - or should he say, to the chain on said watch. The silver chain had alternating pattern of silver and Slytherin green up to half of its length, a symbol of every head of Malfoy family who finished Hogwarts and had a son. His father's link was the last green one, and Draco was expected to color the next one and give to his son…

… if he survived long enough, that was.

He needed something to remind him that there was a possible future beyond the escalating war. He needed the reassurance - or at least a fake determination - that he will survive, and gift his son with the watch, the chain having one more green link to it.

He had to believe in that dream.

* * *

"Where is it?!"

Somehow, while going to the dinner, Draco managed to lose the green and silver chain of the watch. He noticed it right before he went to the bathroom: when he grabbed for the watch to leave it on the nightstand, and pulled out the body of the watch without the chain.

"Damn it…" he grumbled to himself as he traced his footsteps back to the Great Hall, and now setting off to the Transfiguration court, where he rested on the tree.

He had evaded no less than three teachers and five prefects roaming around the dungeons, and he was growing tired of dodging them. He couldn't look for the chain if he had to constantly duck into unused classrooms and secret passages!

He was so lost in thought, he had not registered his surroundings; and just to spite him, karma made him run into another nightly roamer.

"Ouch!"

The collision sent both Draco and the other person crashing on the floor, and the shouts of pain were instantly muffled as they tried to keep their presence in the corridor unnoticed.

"Potter?"

Draco blinked to double-check what he was seeing. Harry Potter's exploits at night and poking his nose where he wasn't supposed to had long since become a legend at Hogwarts. However, all accounts portrayed Potter as someone who A) enjoyed exploring, and B) was more than capable of evading detection.

So how did Draco manage to run straight into him? Better yet, how did Potter run straight into him?

"Malfoy," the boy grumbled, the distaste only barely entering his voice. "Can you move out of my way? I have to get back to the Gryffindor Tower."

"Oh no," Draco slipped into his usual haughty persona, checking for the Prefect badge he pinned on the front of his robes just in case. "I believe you missed the curfew by a good couple of hours, Potter. That'd be -"

"It's not like that!" Potter interrupted him before he could finish the sentence. "I'm returning from detention!"

That stopped Draco dead in his tracks. Detention ending this late? Even his godfather never assigned such long-lasting detentions to Lions, no matter how irritated he had been at their blunders. Was Potter lying to him just to get out of the point deduction?

No, it couldn't be. Potter was sneaky, but once caught, he took the punishment with a stoic face, even pride in some cases. Improbable as it was, he had to be telling at least partial truth.

"Who would assign detentions until eleven?"

"Umbridge," the other boy spat out the woman's name, and Draco grimaced.

That explained it. Potter had been Umbridge's favorite target this entire year, and while Draco could not really say he sympathized with the other boy, he could freely say he did not envy him. That woman was a stain on the Slytherin House honour.

"Okay, I'll let it pass… if you help me."

Potter's eyes narrowed, the viridian green hue still somehow identifiable in the darkness, before he nodded curtly.

"What do you need?"

"I'm searching for a silver chain I lost," Draco explained quickly, setting off for the Transfiguration courtyard and leaving Potter to catch up to him.

"Silver chain? What kind of chain?"

To his credit, Potter did not ask how Draco lost the chain, instead shifting his focus to the more practical question.

"Thin, made for a pocket watch, has alternating silver and green links," the blonde described it in a hushed voice, drawing his wand and lighting it with a murmured _Lumos_.

"Dim it, you idiot!" Potter hissed, pushing Draco's wand hand near Draco's chest to dim the light of the spell. "Do you want to alert the whole castle we're here?"

"Then how are we supposed to search for it?" Draco parried, desperately trying to remember how to lessen the light of _Lumos._ Flitwick had told them how they could manipulate the amount of light, but he couldn't recall how!

"Just… just push less power in it, less intent," Potter waved his hands around in a desperate manner before taking out his own wand and muttering a _Lumos_ to demonstrate _._ The resulting light was dim, almost like a fairy light.

"Oh."

Draco was embarrassed to admit he had completely forgotten about it. A few seconds later, his light was also dimmed, and the two boys set off to comb through the Transfiguration courtyard.

"By the way," Potter said after a few tense minutes, "have you tried Summoning it?"

Okay, now Draco felt stupid. The muggle-raised half-blood was far more practical with his usage of magic than him, pureblood who had been surrounded with magic since the moment he was born. Was he a wizard or what?

" _Accio!_ "

At first, nothing happened, and Draco's heart lurched forward in terror - what if it wasn't there? Or if he wasn't strong enough to Summon the chain? - but moments later, a silver flash flew at staggering speed at the blonde wizard.

Acting on an instinct drilled into him through hours and hours of looking for the Golden Snitch and dodging bludgers, Draco ducked and flung his arm out, palm open. It turned out to be an amazing idea: had he stayed upright, the chain would've hit him straight in the nose. Potter's snickering off to the side told Draco he had seen the whole scene and come to the same conclusion.

"Shut up, Potter," Draco muttered half-heartedly, clutching the chain in his hand and counting the number of green links just to be sure it was his chain.

"Okay, you found it. Am I off the hook?"

Draco pondered for a second. He had promised Potter he would let him off the hook (even though he wasn't really at fault - it was Umbridge's), but this was Potter. Not only a Gryffindor, but a symbol of everything Draco and his father detested - the defeater of Dark Lord, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Golden Boy that could do no wrong.

And yet…

"Fine. You're off the hook. But I'm not saving you if they catch you after we get out of here!"

Potter grinned, the viridian eyes flashing with shade of green disturbingly close to the one on the links on the chain and the Slytherin House banners.

"They won't - you're the one who's in more danger, Malfoy."

"I'm a _prefect_ ," Draco huffed, crossing his arms. "They'll just assume I'm out on a surprise patrol."

"The wonders of having a position of power," Potter noted with dark irony. "Well, I'll be off."

Draco wanted to sigh in relief. He had the chain back in his possession, and the only thing left to do was to get back to the dormitory and into the bed. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, though.

Potter had been far too cooperative. Aside from a few snappy replies, he had not yet insulted Draco, and had helped him find his chain without asking how he lost it, or why it was so important to Draco.

"Wait, Potter."

Potter stopped, his wand hand raised in a casual manner from which he could easily attack and defend.

"Where's the catch?"

Potter blinked.

"Catch?"

"You haven't asked a single question why we were doing this," Draco explained, irritation and confusion bleeding into his voice.

"Why would I?" Potter shrugged and turned on his heel. "It's obviously something personal, and sorry Malfoy, we're not that good friends."

Draco gaped, finding no rebuttal to this, which let Potter sashay out of the courtyard and into the maze of corridors without any further explanation.

* * *

"Is that it?"

Scorpio could not hide his disappointment as he inspected the silver and green chain his father held in his hand, the non-functioning pocket watch dangling from it.

"Yes, this is it," Draco said with a nostalgic smile. "Count the green links, and you'll know how many Malfoys were in Slytherin House."

"Um..." Scorpio frowned, pointing at each link as he silently counted to himself. "Eleven?"

"Eleven," Draco nodded. "Over two centuries of tradition. That eleventh link is mine… and the sacred twelfth will be yours, when you have a son."

"But what if I don't wanna have kids?" Scorpio whined, and Draco chuckled. No one wanted to have kids when they were eleven.

"Give it time," the older blonde lectured. "This is not a choice you can make hastily. Just forget it for now and keep that chain and watch close."

Here, he spotted a rat's nest of black hair out of the corner of his eyes. Potter was here, with his wife and three children. The older son and the daughter looked like even mixture of Ginevra Potter nee Weasley and Harry Potter, but the younger son…

Draco had to blink twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. It was like watching an old photo with a few changes: the green-eyed boy had no scar, and he was hardly alone. In fact, he seemed to shy away from the general scrutiny.

Still, Draco had nearly labeled him 'Harry Potter'.

"Keep them close," Draco repeated in a soft murmur, and Scorpio tensed. His father never used that tone before. "You never know when you'll be able to use it."

"Use it? That old thing?"

But Draco wasn't listening anymore. Potter was watching him and Scorpio with a half-smile, one hand firmly on his younger son's shoulder. The blue and green eyes met, and Draco raised the chain for the other man to see. Recognition lit up Potter's eyes, and Draco meaningfully gave it to Scorpio, turning away from the Potter family…

… but not before he saw an understanding smile and a flash of that particular shade of green in Potter's eyes that made him think of the chain, home and Slytherin House.


	24. The cursed interview

**House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Job interview**

 **Word count: 1,222**

 **A/N: the italicized dialogue is from HBP.**

* * *

Lord Voldemort would never admit it, but he was nervous.

This was something he had dreamed of since Professor Slughorn spotted his talent and invited him into his exclusive little club, since he had seen Dumbledore wield his authority with nonchalant ease around the school and since he had watched Professor Merrythought so easily command the attention of everyone.

He wanted to be the one influencing all those children. He wanted to be revered as more than just warlord - he wanted to reform from both inside and outside, and where better than at the school?

Steeling himself, he walked through the iron wrought gates of the place he still called his first and only home, never slowing down but still giving his best to inhale every sensation the return brought him. The Black Lake was glistening under the winter full moon, looking like someone had poured a lakeful of ink instead of water; the sounds of wildlife coming from the Forbidden Forest no longer threatening, but soothing in their familiarity.

The castle itself had not changed at all, except for the number and placement of the lit windows: it seemed there were more students than in his time. Completely understandable: Voldemort's time was marked heavily by the war with Grindelwald. These generations lived in relative peace.

And Lord Voldemort planned to shatter it, only to rebuild it again. After all, the peace this generation had was nothing more than a calm before the storm; sleep spell cast on the conscience of the people by the pure Light.

He needed them to wake up, and fast.

Lost in his thoughts, he still managed to find his way to the Headmaster's office without a hitch. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

" _Enter._ "

The voice he knew so well and hated just as much called from inside, confirming what his people and the Prophet told him: Albus Dumbledore was the new headmaster of Hogwarts. This was going to get complicated.

" _Good evening, Tom,_ " said Dumbledore easily. " _Won't you sit down?_ "

" _Thank you,_ " he suppressed the wince at the sound of his old name. " _I heard that you had become headmaster._ "

Here, he inclined his head a little. The choice, while bothersome, was not all that surprising. Dumbledore had had Dippet's ear for most of his time as a Transfiguration teacher, and had just the right amount of political clout he never used. Perfect for being a Headmaster.

" _A worthy choice._ "

" _I am glad you approve,_ " said Dumbledore, smiling at him without any hints of animosity. Could he dare to hope this might end the way he wanted it to? " _May I offer you a drink?_ "

" _That would be welcome. I have come a long way._ "

That statement was full of double meaning, and Voldemort noticed a little flash behind the blue eyes. So, the old man still knew how to read the game. Good. That would make things more transparent.

" _So, Tom… to what do I owe the pleasure?_ "

Hah, the pleasure. But let's just clear some things up before they started the serious talk.

" _They do not call me 'Tom' anymore_ ," he said. " _These days, I am known as —_ "

" _I know what you are known as_ ," said Dumbledore, still smiling in a guileless manner. " _But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings_."

Oh. So that was the board he decided to set. Not at all rusty from all those years of teaching. Voldemort had to admit, he was impressed. Not many people could keep up their skills once faced with peace and quiet. The war apparently never left the psyche of Albus Dumbledore.

That would make this a difficult match. He really should've expected it.

" _I am surprised you have remained here so long._ " He decided to go around the subject for a bit: test the grounds, so to say. " _I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school._ "

" _Well, to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too_."

Voldemort leaned back a bit. Honesty radiated from every word, while hiding the crux of the matter - Dumbledore was not willing to risk his neck if something failed. So typical for the old man. Who would've thought he had once been a friend with Gellert Grindelwald? He had to use some rather underground methods, but he had found that little piece of information while researching Grindelwald's life, and remembered it just in case he would need it.

Apparently, he would.

" _I see it still,_ " he finally answered, carefully selecting his words. How much should he imply, and how much would he leave out? " _I merely wondered why you — who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister —_ "

" _Three times at the last count, actually. But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think_."

So, no to that tactic. Hmm. Had he made peace with what he had done? Interesting. Then he would have to switch tactics; be a bit more honest and open than he'd like. He hated it, but if it got him the job, he wouldn't mind it.

Taking a sip of the wine to hide his lack of words, Voldemort took a deep breath. The words were crystallizing in his mind, and his mouth opened to deliver them.

" _I have returned, later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected… but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle, to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they can gain from no other wizard."_

Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his own goblet. Voldemort returned the favor, keeping everything civil so far. However… he couldn't help but feel an ominous feeling of premonition - premonition that he would not succeed.

He banished such thoughts and concentrated himself on the present.

" _Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us_ _,_ " he said quietly. " _Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them_."

Really? Was this the old man's idea of subtle disapproval? It wasn't subtle at all. Not to mention the rumors, while true to a point, were quite exaggerated.

" _Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore._ "

" _You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?_ " asked Dumbledore delicately.

And there, in that moment, Tom knew what the ending would be. Dumbledore had not changed at all in the past two decades: still as spiteful and narrow-minded as always. Giving him hope, and then ruthlessly crushing it under the pretense of righteousness.

Very well. If he could not get the job, no one else will.


End file.
